There’s a doll in the attic, the fancy type.
So pretty when first locked in her box.
She used to have these big blinking eyes,
But that was before.
They won’t shut anymore.
She’s one of the broken ones now, like me.
Broken but gifted, with eyes opened.
There are still times when you beg, of course.
Sometimes, when the world gets too much,
You just want to close your eyes
and drown
in the ocean waves, with your daddy’s big strong arms, hugging around your stomach, ready to go
1,
2,
3,
and send you splashing and giggling back into the water, but always right by his side, so that when you break the surface,
he’d always be
right there.
And in looking to the past, there’s the guilt, too,
Because you wouldn’t trade now for anything.
Maybe not even for his life.
Sensation is the reason why,
that worm that’s crawled its way inside.
And it’s beautiful.
Crystal intensity, involuntary tears,
It’s being in love, in lust,
But with life itself.
It’s that moment of a second when your eyes widen with understanding,
and you see the infinity of stars, dancing in the reddish darkness, and you see the play pretend of language and words, and you see the whirling micro particles that make up every little thing, and in
1,
2,
3,
you see
everything.
But unlike the doll in the attic, you don’t just see.
You don’t just hide, overwhelmed, collecting dust.
I can’t just hide when I understand.
I’ll fix the wounds or I’ll find the cure
But I can’t slink away to scared or sad because
Eyes broken open, I finally know what it is to be alive.
Eyes broken open, I can finally help others live.
These are the stories I can never tell, the feelings I'm not sure who will understand. The ending isn't right, but it's the best I could come up with to capture the feeling.