How many times
Have I said
I’m tired
Close the chapter on me
Let me sleep
High up with mistletoe and squirrel moss
I sent away for a facsimile
Perhaps it will come already programmed
Take my place at the side of table
Mannikin hands jointed clicking clacking
Perhaps she’d love that mail order version
Better
Though love is no longer in our lexicon
The broken shoes of children
Destined to run barefooted
Toes stained with rhubarb juice
Tasting sour, tasting tart
Something bitter lingering among sweetness
For so long I waited
Watching
For you to turn at curve of road
And you did not (you did not, you did not, you did not)
The simmering lump in my candle throat
Never swallowed
When pain builds
First callused, then scars
Has anyone inquired what comes next?
I lost my voice
Then my sight
Then my hearing
It was terrifying
And it was peaceful
For I couldn’t hear them fall
Like tiger moths born in ice
Freeze with first breath, pirouette to ground
Nor see them rot and turn to wine
Nor speak of the pain
Through their juicy little mouths sewn quiet
I see now
Why people run
Why people turn to stone
But what if you can’t
And all you knew was love?
Then
What?
Sometimes I want to cut you into tiny pieces
But you’d still exist
Larger than life
In my filing cabinet of expectations
I was told once if you expect nothing
You can’t be disappointed
I found that so sad
Like eggs without salt
I wanted to taste it all
Be genuine, be real
But first the fur was rubbed off
Then the gentle felt
And finally my glass eyes
Scratched
Just like when you cry
The world was blurred
I couldn’t make out who it was
Who ached and who tore
Till I looked inside and saw it was me
Standing there in the sunlit road
Watching for traffic
And maybe your return
Or maybe a fast car
Whether it hits me
Or passes by
Maybe it stops
Maybe I get in and when asked
Reply
I’m going anywhere
Anywhere but this
TheFeatheredSleep 