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AWAKEN!
ARISE! SPEAK OUT! SING! But everyone is on their phones and they can't hear a thing
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Here, mother says
This is food. I learned to grow it from the bottom of father's bottle and cook it over a flame of boys who kissed too hard It's yours now. Eat it and become. Peace I Cry
and the soul hollows Tightness of breath sourcing a drama from which there are no words to be spoken No tears to be feigned How will this fadge, dear one without the God's recognition? If empathy is only reserved for the worst possible scenario? HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BEEN TRULY SHOT WITH ADRENALINE?
AND I DON’T MEAN DURING YOUR 3-MILE JOG, BRENDA. I MEAN EVERY CAPILLARY IN YOUR BODY POUNDING WITH RIGOR AND OXYGEN? YOUR PUPILS DILATING AND THE WORLD BURSTING INTO FLAMES BEFORE YOU AND AROUND YOU BUT YOU CAN’T BE BURNED? NOT BECAUSE YOU ARE INVINCIBLE BUT BECAUSE, IN THAT MOMENT, YOU REALIZE THAT YOU ARE ALSO ON FIRE? BEYOND THAT. YOU ARE IT’S VERY SOURCE. THEY TALK ABOUT “FIREWORKS” AS IF THE FEELING IS SOMEHOW ABOVE YOU LIKE IT’S FAR AWAY…A VISION TO BE SIMPLY ADMIRED WITH OOHS AND AHHHS. BUT IN BEING KISSED BY HIM MY WHOLE BODY ERUPTED EXPLODED INTO COLORED LIGHT. I WAS. WE WERE. LIGHT. IT TOOK EVERYTHING I HAD TO KEEP FROM SCREAMING. |
AuthorQueer. he/him. Good witch. Archives
October 2022
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