I want to break the binds,
and reject the embrace
I’m stuck in.
I want to sever the knots
in the stitches holding
the hurt inside my head.
I want to scream in the silence
and shatter the glass cage
keeping the numbing ice
pressed against my skin,
when all I need
is the warmth
of gentle fingertips
and the tenderness
of delicately spoken promises.
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Tell me it’s not my fault
I feel like I’ve fallen down three flights of stairs,
bounced my head off concrete,
swallowed gasoline,
and blew myself up from the inside.
Tell me the pain
of living unwanted
in a world full of desire
isn’t my accountability.
Tell me I’m not to blame
for the bleeding of my heart
and the leaking of my brain.
Convince me I’m not the cause,
because it all feels like my liability.
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I close my eyes. Reach into the back of my mind with singed hands. Remember how to breathe through the smoke. The music deafens me, fed directly to my thoughts; an attempt to make them mute. I want nothing more than to live in the silence where my mind loses its voice; forgets how to speak. Ashes fall from my lips; I whisper embers, begging for the kind of quiet I see in blank pages.
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I pulled the thread
I’m hanging by
from your jeans.
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I hang half-dead on a wall,
displayed and gagged with fear,
I am mute,
the vise tightening against my throat,
fingertips litter the crime scene.
My body was once a temple,
before you entered with your servants,
and ransacked all that belonged to me.
You left me chained to concrete,
my insides broken,
and my voice on mute.
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I don’t always know why I walk in the monster’s shadow. Just that it seems like a good refuse from a blinding sun, a place to cool off after running for so long. I don’t know why I walk in the monster’s shadow, but it draws me in like a magnet, then holds me in the dark just long enough that I don’t think I’ll ever see light again.
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Anxiety locked me in this panic room,
forced the gun in my hand and told me
it’s my turn. We’re actively engaged in
a game of russian roulette with my fears,
each shot spraying my thoughts on the
walls, repainting with my brain.
Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, now available on amazon.
