Hiding underneath my bones Beneath the ribcage that moves these sheets up and down Up and down As I inhale And exhale There is something with a voice that lingers Like the taste of Cabernet Sauvignon that you just can’t Wipe Off your lips Or get off your tongue even after you’ve chewed that red meat 25 times Because you counted it and you learned it in elementary school that 25 chews was enough to aid In the digestion. Of what? What are we trying to digest now? There is something beneath the calcified dirt that I am made of That is a prison for my heart. And still, being locked away, this heart beats and beats and beats until the day that I die. Until my lungs stop moving and my brain finally sleeps for good instead of these ridiculous naps I’ve been conditioned to think it’s normal that everything in me should be locked away beneath The hardened remains of what used to be comets and planets and exoskeletons of insects that died centuries ago because they weren’t quick enough to outrun whatever was hunting them. I’ve been conditioned to think that this thing that sleeps in me is hostile I’ve been conditioned to think that the shadow it casts is a morgue for happiness. But really. What I’m coming to realize. Is that the thing inside of me is me beneath a prison of bones. Me beneath the face paint we are given at age 5 to scare away all the bullies that find us hiding On top of the toilets in the bathroom with our feet up so they don’t know we are there. Me beneath the black and the chains and the eyeliner so no one asks questions. Me beneath the intellectuality and emotionality claiming that the universe makes everything just as it should be So everyone thinks that I’m ok with these imperfections. That I’m ok with the missing face paint. That I don’t sometimes miss my chains and eyeliner. And her voice is lingering. And it keeps saying something to the effect of “Let it go”.
Posted on: Mon, 25 Nov 2013 09:25:26 +0000
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