Saturday, October 6, 2012

This Is Not A Poem


Because of your limited vision, I cannot carry myself; what little I know of me as it is. Though I want to leave this house my body is pinned here, trying to stretch out of this chosen, helpless invisibility. It’s what I believe I deserve. I cannot breathe because of it. And you do not see or hear it: the sound of the world bleeding into this mess of us; the sight of the universe caving into this frail, inadequate light. If you did, I could finally speak the truth, and say goodbye. But as it is, I only crawl in the dark and mutter words that don’t matter. Soon, I will need to swallow this fear like a vitamin, pull my legs onto the floor of this space and leave it. And what will I say then, bleeding and powerful?

 

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