I built you a home in my chest by clearing out everything that was useless. My skin was paper, so I cut it away into tiny shapes of cranes, and you smiled as my flightless birds floated on top of the bathwater. You watched them only long enough to see as they made their way from one end to the other, so I won’t blame you for not knowing that water and paper birds don’t exactly mix. My ribs were bleached chalk, so I turned them into the seasons. During the summer they became the white letters littering sidewalks and flat driveways. As Autumn soaked the leaves that shimmering amber of hard liquor, my ribs found root in your gardens and became your second bloom of pristine Candytuft. When winter gave you nothing but a bitterly bright tundra, my bones turned into powder, as soft as moonlight, to gently kiss your rosy cheeks. And when Spring finally came, I flattened what remained of my ribs into cherry blossoms. They were tinged the palest pink at the stem, but you didn’t seem to mind, so I ignored the color. Even as that pink began to run red, I didn’t stop. You were still smiling, with every petal that filled the air you were smiling so wide… so of course I couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down….how could I, when I was making you smile?
This body is rejecting me, slowly and slowly.
My bones of collagen and calcium phosphate
Feel the constant friction of running away.
My once solid steps now falter,
As if I am walking on sand.
The only way I can move
Is to burn it all into sharp glass.
And so I am a fragile mess,
A transparent coward,
Unwilling to take a single step
Because the next mistake I make
Is sure to shatter whatever’s left
Of the person I wanted to be..
Now, right now, I cannot focus my eyes. They water in the bright light, damaged by any image aside from the pitch black. My feet are cold under my white and gray socks. I am shaking. I feel sick. I want to run, far away, but find myself captured in a million different social situations. Talking; I can’t do it. My mind draws a blank as my dry mouth fails to produce a word. It’s strange; I fear being alone like this but cannot stand looking at anyone else. A broken mirror, which is what I am. Shattered, unable to find any hint of what I once truly was, only these pieces that could be from anyone, anything…
I’m beginning to see how it is
That the sea, so full to its brim,
So overflowing with creatures,
The very blossom of life, can feel
Blank, like the pallet of stars
Our God saw fit to place
Where we can never hope to reach.
Inside we hold a universe untold,
The light, hidden as unlit torches,
The bearers our hearts, our brothers
And sisters the sparks to catch
Our very souls on fire.
How does an Ocean wash itself clean?
The water flows with the Moon,
That mirror blush from a luminous star,
And clashes against hard creation.
Together, thus does earth turn to lemon sand
And the ocean spray become cerulean tears.
Now, how does the soul burn away sin?
Set out a heart, so that it may too
Someday become as forgiving
As the delicate cinders that become
The ashes, taken by a wind
To become the soot for another;
In that we see how our brothers
And sisters are the very soil
In which our own timbers take root.
Still, the Sea is not always against the shore,
As the heart is not always open
To the gentle embers of others.
In that sense, one can see how
Being in an endless ocean can seem
The depths await for cleansing,
A steady touch from mother Gaia
To let them know it’s okay to cry.
My soul stands and waits
On an edge, the last glass step
Towards the fiery stars that remain
Just beyond my reach.