I don't know how to swim today,
so I'm eating clementines instead
watching the world burn from the shore,
the peels and stains I've left behind
escaping with the tide
removing the sand, the pulp,
the parts I do not care for,
making it more digestible
It used to take years, you know.
I used to find them a waste of a youth,
but my mother showed me how
to strip it so tenderly,
how to pull it apart
until it tastes like
last July, until it
tastes like how
you wish for it to.
I tear it in two to share with you,
apologizing for the wait.
It's ready to eat, now.
You can enjoy it, now.
Your laugh gets lost in the waves.
Well, anyway.
___________________________
I don't know how to breathe today,
so I'm eating clementines instead,
hoping the sun reaches my skin,
hoping that one day the water
will be more than a memory
I'm still learning how to find
all of its segments palatable,
how to eat alone and feel satisfied.
I don't know how to breathe, today.
I'm still learning how to let myself live.
I'm still learning how to enjoy this.
So, for now, I eat clementines.
You used to find the taste worth
the late night peeling, you know.
I hope one day I feel the same.
eve's note: hi everyone. sorry in advance for the oversharing, but writing always makes me sentimental. this poem is inspired by the current phase of my life i'm in, where i'm not only learning how to find all parts of me digestible, but also that i might have to consume all of me on my own, for awhile. and it's scary, isn't it? learning how to be alone without eating yourself alive. anyway, i hope you like it. it's a little different than what i normally write, but i'm learning to be proud of it, all the same.
love you.
YOU ARE READING
HEAVENLY CORRUPTION
PoetryThe ramblings of a woman who spent too much time in confession and too little time trying to figure out what exactly she was apologizing for.
