Spoiler! :
30.
the grand finale
~a dedication to everyone who is doing Napo, to everyone who might be going through a hard time, to everyone who has read my poems in the past 30 days, to everyone who is a little broken, you are all beautiful. ~
~a dedication to everyone who is doing Napo, to everyone who might be going through a hard time, to everyone who has read my poems in the past 30 days, to everyone who is a little broken, you are all beautiful. ~
we are hot balloons rising,
silver coated irises and gold swimming in our veins. we are timeless and ageless,
this is our grand finale
we are ready (except we're not)
there are still fences of thorns from the time we hiked through the jungle, leagues of lesions the size of our hearts are still on our knees (where we're the most likely to land when we fall)
we will be raw all over again
(and we will keep breaking
and breaking
until falling becomes the circadian rhythm we will dream to in our sleep)
in the morning, there are still days when we wake
with acid blistering in our lungs when we try to exhale,
ashes from the time when the sky collapsed on us are waltzing in our system, we thought everyone was going to die (except of course,
no one did and the only thing that happened was the sound of you leaving and the sound of me
screaming my throat raw.)
i can tell you all about it, the aftermath after your departure
how a minute becomes a revolution of 360 seconds, and each revolution is a
guillotine hungry for your flesh.
and unfortunately, my skin is not a renewable energy source.
because the truth is this, the sky isn’t my skin, or yours
sunlight won’t always propel itself over the clouds on days when it is easier
to empty out its attic then try and clean it out.
the truth is, moonlight won’t always be serotonin infusing your marrow with
wine of the gods.
which is why,
this is a call to arms.
because there is silver in the lining of our ligaments, displacement does not always signify
catastrophe. there is gold
in the debris of a breakage,
to paint ourselves whole again with.
we are the damsels in distress,
we are also the queens in our own castle.
silver coated irises and gold swimming in our veins. we are timeless and ageless,
this is our grand finale
we are ready (except we're not)
there are still fences of thorns from the time we hiked through the jungle, leagues of lesions the size of our hearts are still on our knees (where we're the most likely to land when we fall)
we will be raw all over again
(and we will keep breaking
and breaking
until falling becomes the circadian rhythm we will dream to in our sleep)
in the morning, there are still days when we wake
with acid blistering in our lungs when we try to exhale,
ashes from the time when the sky collapsed on us are waltzing in our system, we thought everyone was going to die (except of course,
no one did and the only thing that happened was the sound of you leaving and the sound of me
screaming my throat raw.)
i can tell you all about it, the aftermath after your departure
how a minute becomes a revolution of 360 seconds, and each revolution is a
guillotine hungry for your flesh.
and unfortunately, my skin is not a renewable energy source.
because the truth is this, the sky isn’t my skin, or yours
sunlight won’t always propel itself over the clouds on days when it is easier
to empty out its attic then try and clean it out.
the truth is, moonlight won’t always be serotonin infusing your marrow with
wine of the gods.
which is why,
this is a call to arms.
because there is silver in the lining of our ligaments, displacement does not always signify
catastrophe. there is gold
in the debris of a breakage,
to paint ourselves whole again with.
we are the damsels in distress,
we are also the queens in our own castle.
Gender:
Points: 561
Reviews: 476