[some memories, some stress relief, and too many emotions. a poetry project,]
- day one -
i am ten years old
and morning is cold on my eyelids.
i sit on the ironing table. outside
the palm trees swivel their heads in the rain,
and water trickles steadily into the gaps
in the apartment complex's stoned pathways.
this is where i spend four years of my childhood,
gasping for breath in monsoon's hyper-inflated lungs.
this is that part of my life where i always felt
like the wind was bound to carry me somewhere far away.
cold calloused hands, march shrubbery and we are
inevitable in the coming of daylight. loose-lipped sighs,
stones hurled over the edge, quick steps and a pond
like a pool of mercury ebbing into the horizon. the red
bleeding out of the bulb is not alcohol, mum,
it is a caustic coming of age story draped in leaves and lace,
where one is constantly leaving and another
consistently left behind. it is the colour of the sun
as it trickles down the sky's jutting chin, the colour
that erupts on my tongue when i gnash my teeth too hard,
when suddenly all that is is all that is and is forever screaming.
we are inevitable in the coming of daylight,
broken thermometers crushed beneath the sky's bare feet,
heads strewn awry like a kite's runaway thread, endless loops
and twirls and smoke in guttered lungs. cold
calloused hands, march shrubbery and all that is
is all that is is inevitable
in the coming of daylight.
Gender:
Points: 27
Reviews: 396