Spilled Tea

Devotion & Nuclear Debris

Waking up in shorts
many sizes too large,
hours of sitting in airplanes,
raspberry bushes
with swarming bees.
Learning to forgive myself
in little slip ups when I forget
the things I have learned.
"You haven't done anything
that would warrant me
being upset with you," you said.
You shouldn't have to say that.
Yet you still do.
You've never given me
a reason not to trust you.
Swimming through
the blurriness of
uncharted territory
in these days that
I am away from home,
I forget this in my fear
that distance will
make things crumble.
You and I both know
that I know better.
I am used to dealing with liars,
but you are not a liar.
Just like I made the promise
to never lie to you.
I think I have been good about this.
As much as we are equals,
you have fed my need
of a healthy power exchange.
Here I am in another position
that I have been put in before
and abused.
Here you are and you've
never once belittled me
in a nature that isn't out
of humor (for the both of us).
My brain refuses to consider
days when we hardly talk
'full days.'
I find that a little humorous.
I am not the girl who
would break your heart
or leave you standing
out in the rain.
Maybe that is why you
do not love me like I love you.
It's difficult waiting for
something that I'm not certain
will ever come to pass,
especially because I'm
already quite devoted.
But you don't have to take any risks.
I understand why that wouldn't
be worth the trip.
What is the point of a trip
without any risk?
This plane ride to my birthplace
was quite a risk.
The smell of this house lingers
as I lay on top of my
freshly-made covers.
The covers that I picked
all too excitedly because
I had wanted them for so long.
They often get very hot at night.
I burned alive from the inside
in this bed.
Words were thrown at me
like grenades from women
who each had their own intentions,
whether good or bad,
and sparked my
internal total war.
This is the mattress
where much too often,
bombs would be
set off in my soul.
There's still nuclear debris
scattered everywhere.
Sometimes I'll trip
and feel it sear my skin,
reminding me of how it felt
when everything got burned.
I used to love the scent here
and now, I'm not so certain.
This is where I taught myself
how to wail silently
with the ghosts
swarming this barren land
and keep silent in the morning.
This is where the nightmares
come back and I wake up
with freezing cold tears,
wondering why I'm
dreaming anything.
Dreaming is such
a rare occurrence.
This land is the place
my father and I watch
thunderstorms like
they're our favorite movie.
I wonder if I gained my love
for lightning from him
and I wonder if that is
something I am happy about.
I think he shares
the same darkness
I've wondered about
that exists within me.
The darkness that
I've seen light the matches
that have burned bridges
and detonated nukes.
I want to ask him if it will go away,
but I'm not sure I'll like the answer.
He would tell me that it's never
going to leave and you're just going
to have to learn to deal with it
because that's 'how life is.'
But I don't believe
the meaning of life
is only to learn to 'deal with it.'
This bed, this house, this land;
they all make me fear the
destruction of all of my progress
with my own hands at fault.
They make me fear that you and I
would travel down the same path as
the others have during the times
that I've stayed under these covers.
But they also don't have the power
to take away my trust
or my knowledge that
when I come back home,
you're going to be around.
You're going to crack the cycle
because I'm not the girl
I was in those summers,
and you're not the people
I dealt with in those times.
So I will take the
pain of remembrance
through the nights
that I will sleep here,
knowing that this time,
I'm not going to
get burned again.