mother,
yelling at her child
in the market
mother,
stranger,
how i wish to yell at you
a child.
so precious,
ALIVE!
BREATHING!
HERE.
how i wish i had
a child to yell at
to take into my arms
to love
to kiss
to hug
to yell at,
never again.

I cannot explain all the pathetic measures
my eyes will take to avoid your gaze,
all the paths my legs will journey to avoid bumping into you on my way home.
All the ways I knead my hands to the bone and all the toothpick excuses skewering my tongue.
And I cannot explain the way your presence deflates something inside my chest.
I don't know what to do with all that empty space. It echoes.
I fill it with the thimble's worth of pride that I scrape together,
every meager flake of validation I pick from the floor. I shovel slopping handfuls of sawdust
to try and soak up some of the shadows
but everything dissolves in that oily void, green and hideous.
God, it echoes, and everyone hears it.
I muffle it with my radio silence.
I look at you and I see everything I hate about myself
under a microscope.
Every blemish, every scar, every gaping hole
that you lack.
Stop, look. Here. Wrong.
Hear?
I blind myself with radio silence.
I don’t know how to live with an eternal reminder that I am incomplete.
You, and the place you hollowed without even knowing it.
Green and monstrous.
It echoes and everyone hears it.
I love you, but I cannot explain my radio silence.

Fair goddess, strip me of my wings
And cast my body to the sea

Atleast then I become the rain that kisses your cheek-
the morning dew that brushes your ankles-
the snow that rests upon your raven lashes.

For as Icarus envies the sky for embracing the sun, I envy these things in their gorgeous simplicity

And yet,
they dwell oblivious to the fortune they posses-the gift of touching you

I’m not sure that I know what jealousy feels like.

I’ve heard tales of it.

Of green cheeks and envious eyes and pounding hearts.

And while my heart beats in my chest like a snare drum,
I don’t believe that it’s out of envy.

I’ve little care for your other loves
Or other bodies.
For all that matters to me
Is when your head
Is on my chest.

I don’t believe I’ve felt jealousy.

Fear,

On the other hand,

Is a strong possibility.