I fear the finality
It doesnt fit
Theres an itch,
like a wrong suit and I'm pulling at the sleeves
To relieve the wrong ness,
Because it shouldn't hurt this much.
It shouldn't look like hand me downs and disaster,
like patches and a picked at lack-lustre lie
But it is, and I sit in it like the youngest.
Not my style, not my choice
Not my face or how I feel
This unrealness is someone else's.
The pattern is loud, proud of its garish
Flambouyance, as it shows off the ache
The geometric shape of my sharpness
Against the soft of sad
How it frames the sag around my shoulders.
If only I were older,
And time could take in the waist
Sew the hems and make
Somehow this is my skin
How am I supposed to wear it?
Eyes open into newness
And find a smile
With the happiness
That took only one look to awaken
And one little life to nurture.
Nine months worth of waiting
Melt into a promise of forever.
My love for you is an endless
Bigger than the both of us
Loud and bellowing.
But I whisper it
because I want to let you sleep.
My sister recently had her first child and I wrote this for her. It doesnt do the moment of moma meeting baby for the first time justice, but its something.
You made me soft;
A Marshmallow drop that melted sweetness,
and tasted like nostalgia on your tongue
In that place where camps fires smoked and we smouldered,
Orange with a glow
that crackled envy,
I saw forever in those flames.
Just a little tiny taste of eternity
Reaching for me, as I reached for you.
I curled and crisped,
Dribbled into that abyss
and bubbled up in the heat.
The loves that last a summer and burn out quickly. Old memories and old campfires remain.
Are we broken babe?
By all that remains
Of what made us.
The world is busy,
stormed with shards of uncertainty
that razor at the ropes of sanity,
till only frays remain, stumped at my thumb,
light in my grip.
Its times like these that I sink;
Kind faces become blurry blobs of expectation,
Waiting hands are impatient in their skin,
Opening and closing with the clasping closeness that feels choking.
I am smothered by the too much
and bury my head beneath the deluge.
The quagmire blots my ears,
Muffles the movements
All the sounds of all the somethings
going about the day.
In the ignorance I remain saved,
Every thought just about intelligible
Every feeling a negligible waver on this frequency.
Forgive me, hold me accountable for the hurt that I cause.
But the world is busy
And all I crave is quiet.
I have held so many of your tears
on my skin
in my chest
that I have forgotten
I have my own.
To my middle child.