I remember sunny times,
ballet class and nursery rhymes;
times of you and me.
I cry for all the things I’ve lost:
friends and lovers I misplaced in the dark.
For all that I’ve forgotten;
memories fade to dreams and all my past is gone.
I cry for every time I think of you and can’t seem to recall much.
I cry for all the times I’ve woken up, seeing your face
in my dreams, and not really knowing it was you at all.
I want what I cannot
put into words:
the dousing of the flame
which reminds me you are not mine.
The silencing of my thoughts
which day in, day out
turn, turn, turn to you.
To dam the flow of
you that seeps into my dreams.
To snuff your constant presence
in all of me.
They say
there are two ways out.
I must pick my poison.
Of being tired
Of feeling like I’m not
good enough
alive happy
loved.
Of loneliness
emptiness
unexplainable sadness.
Of living in fear of the parts of
myself I can’t control.
Of feeling,
of living;
of it all.
Protect yourself, his warm words tickle my ear.
But to protect myself from
you only makes me vulnerable
to the rest of the world.
Nobody warned you
that once I left
the warm walls of your womb,
I would be your sacrifice
to this world;
that I was no longer yours to control.
I was destined to move
with the mountains, to walk
barefoot on the soil and let the soles
of my feet close all gaps between me
and the universe.
And yet you fight—loudly, violently, teeth bared—
to tell the cosmos I am yours.
My first unsteady steps, the first utterances
to tumble from my mouth, my every
achievement and failure
belong to you.
If you cannot have them, no one can,
not even me.
And so you destroy
me
slowly; blindly tearing me apart,
consuming me until
I am once again
completely, undoubtedly, a part
of you.
I’ve watched them wither.
I’ve watched as the universe has drawn lines
on their faces.
I’ve watched as their hopes were crushed into cynicism,
their beliefs laughed at by others, and eventually
by themselves.
Their once perfumed breath now
reeks of accusations.
Their once strong backs now hunched as they crouch
in the corner.
Their life is no longer lived for themselves, they say:
We live for you, it’s all for you.
I’ve watched them, and I am scared.
Scared to be like them,
scared that I have done this to them.
You laid it all out on the table:
a feast for a ravenous heart.
But you wanted
to be a magician, so
you pulled
the tablecloth out from underneath.
I crossed my fingers and watched
it all come crashing down.
Silenticel 