it sounds like glitter.
a flipped cassette,
a puff of gentle smoke.
i want to feel that way again.
i want to feel my heart at the base of my ear drum,
to hold my breath at the unbearable closeness of another-
the tape stops when i stare at myself.
the lights come on,
a jarring blur of fluorescent.
i want to be an allure,
but i don't want to be strained down to such.
i crave to be wanted,
but i don't think that the dimmed lights do much justice.
i need to bury my eyes in the soil.
i need my adolescent smile to melt away.
i need the rose in my cheeks to be fermented into a well aged merlot.
but i've flipped the tape again,
and there lies a little girl.
she will always crave the ordained.
i fear i'll never make side a.
i fear i'll never meet the guidelines,
never sit at the dining room table.
i will write myself off as not quite
until i feel less ashamed of being forgotten.
so the tape will repeat the same melody,
until someone looks at me and sees a body in motion-
not a fawn who's learning how to step.
YOU ARE READING
speak softly
Poetryyou speak until your breath gives out, and the shallow huffs of words they never heard beg to be buried; but live on in the sidewalks. - - - prose/poetry
