I almost think I hear your voice whispering good mornings and goodbyes but you’re never really there.
When will you finally grow tired of the birds that come and go as they please?
If you could run back to the past and find yourself, what are some things you’d like you to know?
…please don’t get too used to it,
don’t make it your survival.
She was confusion in abundance
and it almost always weighed her down,
when you’re heavy and you’re slow,
you forget to look around.
Is it selfish to say
that I’d rather not watch you grow
if it means outgrowing me?
I like words and how they communicate feeling but there are some feelings you can only communicate by touch; like the feeling I get from playing with your hair when your hands are too busy to humour me – or how your body always curves so perfectly into mine as if we were once two halves of the same whole. But I have no words to describe the ones you take from my mouth when you tell me we’ve been living in a haze; even with all the pretty words that I’ve learned to string together, I still have no words for this feeling.
I hear you lingering outside my door and I wonder: how much of your life have I stolen from you in all the times you’ve had to worry about me? Are there dreams you’ve let die to keep me alive? Did you shut yourself off in hopes of opening me up? If they gave you the world, would you give it up to stay? What else did you give up? What else are you going to have to? Will our world ever extend outside of me, or are you stuck with me forever? You always talk about the magic of watching your kids grow, but what’s the word to describe the light that leave your parents’ eyes, gradually, over time, as they try to fill yours?
…but maybe one day I’ll be able to look down at my hands and see hands instead of pointed fingers.I’ll look in the mirror and instead of fingerprints and bruised skin, I will see my body for all the wild it has survived. Every time he walks by with his world so barely touched, I won’t shrink for him, no, not me, I won’t shrink for him, not this time. I mean, I may not stand too tall or maybe not even at all but he won’t be able to miss the lights under my skin, still twinkling where he used to crawl, he won’t be shaking me of this worth I scratched and climbed my way to build, and he for sure won’t miss these medals now wrapped around my neck, engraved– THIS USED TO BE HIS HANDS.
There’s a difference between loving me and loving how I make you feel…