A Poem About You -by Me

Run -by me

Like the prey that attempts to escape it’s predators, I don’t succeed in running away from you. I get caught between your sharp teeth and talons, and the process repeats all over again.

The call of the hound -by me

I will wait, holding a treat out as I wait for you to come up and sniffle my hand. I will treat you like the abused dog you are, letting things go at your pace despite the desperation in my soul. I will do my best to show you that I mean no harm, even if I love a little too loud. I’ll even get excited when you finally give in, immediately reaching my hands out to run my fingers through your soft fur. It honestly doesn’t surprise me when you sink your teeth into my flesh, staining those pearly whites with my imperfect blood. I will shamefully glance away, ignoring the rightfully placed pain that you have inflicted upon me. I’ll tell myself that I rushed it out love, even if it was only out of the desperation for connection.

Heart -by Cowabunga

I cough up the very liquid that keeps me alive, my hand trembling as my eyes blur with unshead tears. It’s an angry color, what stains my soft hands. Feeling it drip through the cracks and onto the white sheets below. Gritting my teeth as that familiar shape stab cuts through my chest, causing my entire being to tremble in agony. I am suffering, yet I silence myself. Accepting the fact that this is the consequences of how I choose to love.

Baby trap - Cowabunga

The day I found that seed in my garden, I knew I was like a bird in its cage. As I didn’t plant that seed amongst my greenery, and I was so sure I locked that stupid wooden gate. Yet here I am, forced to grow this seed within my bone. It would be so simple to dig it up, to throw it off to the side and forget this ever happened. But this seed was a gift they say, and I don’t think at this point my own opinions matter.

Untitled -by me

In my family, the saying “the apple falls not far from its tree” is very relevant. For our apples my roll, but it will never go far. This has led me to fear for my apple and its tree of origin, As I did not roll very far from my tree. Her beautiful, supposedly sturdy branches that once held my weight, broke away from me the moment I showed signs of rot. Instilling the idea that my tree is ashamed of me, that I am truly that rotten to the core. I fear that I am no better than my own mother tree, our roots connected in a way that’s unbreakable, that cannot be untwined. I fear that when I become a mighty tree, and that I have apples of my own, that I too will let my branches break the moment I notice one of them being to rot. That I will stand tall and watch my beloved apples fall to the ground, that my apple will grow into a tree and restart the tradition all over again. That my family's apples do not fall far from its tree of origin, we may roll, but we will never go far.