wreckage

 

i want nothing more than to tear out my heart and hand it to you.

because i know that you could shelter it better than i ever could -

cocooned in gauze and cooling words

hidden from the decay and the birds

buried deep

allowed to sleep

at least for a little while.

sometimes hurts to even smile,

and i plug the dam as best i can try

i can’t even give you a reason for me to cry.

as my face burns

and my clear sight turns

to watercolors birthed of pain,

feels like nothing left of me remains.

my stomach’s queasy

but no one sees me

or hears my breakdown

because i won’t be a burden now.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

self-portrait as a Changeling

  self-portrait as a Changeling     from the crib, it was obvious oddity of a child much too quiet, uncrying than a swaddled babe ought to be. there but not, right but off long thin, picking hands and skinny bundle of a body wide eyes like an insect. plain but oh so Fair.   nearly sideways and clothes inside out tear out tags and set out milk for my kind. they know not what to make of me, elf-child sat in the corner quiet and chaos my teachers thinking me a brutish, biting thing skin burnt by the iron in the blood i draw.   scream in speaking, my hands recoil – too bright, too loud taking to human’s wisdom but not customs, speaking of bugs or myths or the taste of wildflowers in my teeth, i tear with burning hands my own heart and wonder why i am so sad.   the elders, the unseeing, silly people with silly, angry hearts shout in the streets and squares seaspray in their blind eyes “ the blessed folk, the ...
Read more

grimy (being weird with it)

you already know it's true.  the drawings in your margins are better than they are in the sketchbook, so you tape them in there with the ragged edges showing.  jeans breathe more easily with holes in the knees, and half the choir sings more musically at karaoke than the competition. scars and moles and acne and stretch marks make better character design, and i hope i get old and my makeup gets caked into the creases on my face.  you can measure flaws if you're a computer, but a blank face looks like a perfect lawn, unlucky without the clover. if your voice doesn't crack when you sing too high, you need to sing louder. God made us in His image, freckles and - I stopped putting concealer on my dark circles a while ago, and brushed glitter on them instead, I think the world's grayer so we need more color, more gritty shine and greasy blush - our faces are human but our souls are incomprehensible. stardust is overused, but we are inherently undefinable.  spray paint clot...
Read more

winter's eve (a shorter, older poem)

when the weather starts to freeze something seems off about the trees. sky turns grey, and shines like steel - loses summer’s dancing, bright appeal. yet an odd elegance it now gains; snow and ice may still be gentler than spring’s stormy rains.
Read more