A/N: I thought I should make some official guidelines for dialogue, since I haven't really done that--I've kind of just been trusting that you guys are smart enough to realize.
Regular--Main Character/Speaker (Evelyn)
Bold--Noah/Boy On Fire
Italic--Background Character/Unimportant Person/Stranger
Underline--Background Character #2/Unimportant Person #2/Stranger #2
*any other fonts in quotations that do not apply are most likely background characters that aren't as important, and will be probably clarified in beginnings of chapters or directly addressed in poems*
If you're confused at any point in the poems, please bring the issue to my attention. I'll promptly clarify, and probably slightly change it so that it's more clear for future readers.
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dear mom,
there's an ancient egyptian belief
that it's possible for hearts to be weighed
as if the heart is only a organ
rather than the foundation of humanity; the center of emotions
as if the horizon of mountains and cliffs drawn by the pounding of our core
echo simply of a wavelength frequency listening to the noise of hollow static
as if our hands can grasp the intangible
pretending they cannot slip through our fingertips like drops of rain
as if we do not only see less than one percent of the color spectrum in our eyes
under the delusion we are not blind men stumbling around the universe with naivety as our crutch
as if infinity can be measured into the capacity of the human mind
like we can measure a quantity that is innumerable
the tale is woven that your heart must be lighter than air
the feather of truth, they call it
for it enlightens of the real, raw nature of hearts
that they are not the crescent, circular shapes we imagine them to be
they are an embodiment of us-
roots of veins intersecting in every direction, pieces like a vase melded out of shattered glass
c r a c k e d , b r o k e n , f r a g m e n t e d
if the scales tip in your favor, you are bestowed access to an eternal resting place
if you are not worthy, you are condemned to what is believed to be the worst fate of all:
nonexistence
i thought about this during dinner
as our silverware scraped and screeched against the ceramic,
murmurs of lost whispers withering away into silence
if like hearts, names could be counted on like
f o u r , t h r e e , t w o
tying us down like an anchor with the burden of their heaviness to an identity we didn't chose
YOU ARE READING
Lilies
PoetryA girl receives a letter from the mother who abandoned her years ago, leaving her to deal with the remnants of their broken family alone. She attempts to respond by bottling her emotions into the chaotic lines of poems, as old scars are reopened. ...
