Archive | November, 2012

Hanging

24 Nov

I am swinging.

Up and down, up and down.

I push with my legs the way daddy taught me way back when I could barely get onto the swing by myself, when my legs looked so small stretched out in front of me that I thought I’d never get to the sky.

And I sure do want to. I want to touch the clouds.

I want to jump off the swing and land on top of one, just like the kids in the books on my shelf always did.

I’m a pretty good traveler so naturally I’ll find myself a rainbow to slide down when I’m done. There won’t be a pot of gold at the end though – that’s just a silly fairytale. However, I do hope there’s a bus stop because my parents won’t be back from work until dark and I always eat dinner at six.

I open my eyes. I’m nearly there. It’s right in front of me. The perfect one. I’m ready. I’ve waited for so long. It’s time.

I take a deep breath and shift to the edge of the black plastic strip holding me up so high in the air. I loosen my grip on the rusty old chains at my sides.

And

I jump. I reach out.

My hands catch nothing. Nothing at all.

There’s nothing there.

The cloud doesn’t catch me.

The illusion is shattered.

I feel myself falling.

And suddenly I stop.

I’m left hanging in the air.

Thank God I wore that old sweater with the frayed ends and loose strings.

Because I’m being held up by a thread.

Dear Child

23 Nov

Dear child, climb on to my lap and into my waiting arms. Let me hide you from the horrors of this world.

Dear child, close your eyes tightly and scrunch up your face to guarantee that not a single sight escapes inside. Let me blind you from the sadness in this life.

Dear child, my hands are busy holding you so please place your palms against your ears and don’t let go, not even for a second. That’s not enough to protect you from the voices of pain calling out in the silence but it’s the best I can do.

But dear, dear child, there is one thing you must never do. You must never close your mouth. You must never let anyone do that for you. Feed our sorry souls with your clean words of innocence and undamaged thoughts. Fill our minds with the ideas we’ve lost, the ones that were stolen away from us before we even had a chance to lock them up – before we knew we had to. Maybe if you do so long enough you might be able to begin healing our open wounds, although that too I doubt very much.

23 Nov

It WILL get better. You WILL grow up. Things WILL work out.
I don’t give a fucking shit.
I’m living in present tense, not future perfect.
Because the future is far.
And perfect is a made-up idea that never will exist.
I need an immediate solution.
I’ve had enough of your encouragements, your words of praise, your phrases of support and sentences of love and advice and all of your other bullshit.
Either stick out a hand and help me up or go away and leave me here lying on the ground.

(I feel the need to point out that the Future Perfect idea was borrowed and changes around from the dear Douglas Adams. I wouldn’t feel right posting this without mentioning that so here.)

23 Nov

I’m trying to break out of this repetitive style
But everything I do and say and think and write
Just looks and sounds and feels the same
And I can’t seem to stop this monotonous style
Where everything happens
Over
And over
And over again
And I bang my fists in hopes of breaking down these walls I’ve built around my mind to prevent myself from venturing too far out, God forbid I get lost alone in the dark.
But these walls are strong from years of work and effort put into strengthening them against the world outside.

Windows and doors were left out of the blueprints.

Pain

23 Nov

There are many words in the world
Spelled with five or ten letters or more
So how come a word with meaning so big
Can be spelled with only four

Twins

23 Nov

They fall.

The deaf will not hear the crash.
They won’t hear the cries or the blood curling screams.
Instead, they will see the smoke.
The clouds of dust.
The people, running for their lives, realizing that from here on, everything is going to change.

The blind will not see the crash.
They won’t see the bodies, the people trying to escape even though there’s nowhere to go.
Instead, they will hear the pleas.
The people, as they shriek for help.
The fall, and the second of silence before the truth hits the mind.

And some people, some people won’t hear or see anything at all.
Because they are at the top.
And when the middle is hit, the top goes down.
And so does anything in it.
Because that’s just the way it is.

I Am Afraid of Sleep

23 Nov

I am afraid of the darkness behind my eyelids
I am afraid of the thoughts that invade once my mouth is closed
I am afraid of the sounds that form once my eyes are shut
I am afraid of the loneliness when I can’t see
I am afraid of letting go
I am afraid of waking up

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