|granites and lime stones
Sneering thorns knew how to hold their breaths down deep into my skin, but I knew better than to raise my screams over the bellowing guns. I steal nutella from my favorite memory, hoping for silk in the air, any form of warmth because these thorns kiss my blood after telling me bitter truths and lies. And after years of fighting with my words, I finally realized this was never a war. You teach me how to throw granites and lime stones on lakes and seas and once I am about to go home, you tell me to wait and see how far the rocks leap on the beds. But I can’t see a thing when the all the lights of the world are turned off. Fireflies hide behind the maple trees twenty miles from here, leaving me with a dying night I can’t restore back into life. And then I am back to those fearing nightmares of thorns that threaten and nibble the debris of my strength. I am swallowed down to the mouths of hate, depression, lust, anger, everything that you can possibly imagine. But you open the blinds, pour a few streams of sunlight on my small eyes to drench my fears to lifeless ants. I tell you that I’m sorry. I tell you that I can’t keep doing this to you. I’m not a little girl; I’m not a child, but you and I both know that I am lying through my teeth. When you walk up the stairs, I feel exactly what I am not. I feel too small to fly kites, too scared to hold hands, too weak to walk home. So stay here with me. It’s the only way I know I am breathing, that I am safe, that I am alive. You wipe away these fears by kissing my nose and grinding the cigarette butts with Adam’s sore bones. And then I whisper, “Take me back to that lake.” This time I will see what you wanted me to see. My mom never told me I was blind. My mom never told me I needed to close my eyes to see, but I won’t blame her. You tell me skies are not always spitting azure pigments and clouds never learned to stop telling lies, but that does not mean they should hibernate on the thumping grounds we step on. With every sight you shine gold I keep telling myself I’m not weak, I’m not weak, I’m not weak. But then I give up just like the thousands of times I conditioned myself to say “No” to me, to myself. It’s time for bed, but you won’t let me sleep. You keep me awake all night, threading music keys on my sick soul, shaking every fear from my resting blood, so I can wake up facing the same sun you see every dawn. But, no I was dreaming. I wake up to thundering showers, my hands clasped with the same granites and lime stones you showed me the first time we were near the lakes and seas. “Take me there, take me there.” I keep repeating this, but I know I have to take the trip alone this time, get lost in the reason for breathing, so you can your squeeze your name between the running veins in my body.