tickles&tights

Dear Diary,

I am laying on brown blades

Of grass that fade

Into different shades of the seasons.

My chest falls after every breath

Like waves crashing into the depths

I am gently pulled into dry earth…

The crackles of light through tall trees

Cradle my body with spindles of warmth

I am in the womb.

I am in the fluid of breath

And the pulse of gravity

Drowning in the mother that moves me

As the ground beneath

Knots my limbs to the sound of roots

That are reaching for me

This is my umbilical chord

Keeping me bound to the silhouette of existence. 

Dear Diary

Today I feel

Like the misery that urges eyes to tear

I blister like glass as it burns

I twist like heads as they turn

And I tell a lot of stories that no one wants to hear.

Dear Diary,

When the mirror looks into me

I cant look back

Too afraid to sing a song

Because then the world might know

I have a voice

Too afraid to hum

Because I might know I have a choice

I don’t have to be sad like this.

I don’t have to be a pharaoh’s tomb

Designs of Gold on the outside

Rotting ribbons of flesh within.

I don’t have to cry or fight

I could break dishes or I could break into flight

At any moment of the minute.

Dear Diary,

My mind whispers secrets to my heart

That could pull any young woman apart.

But I don’t.

I stand on my feet

Like scars kissing skin.

copyright Sahra Brubeck