A bow drawn,

And I hold my breath.

A mouth opened,

And I pause,

Muscles frozen.



Move my soul.



As the mouth closes,

Around a note.

And the bow lowers

To the violin,

I breathe again, able to move.



Move my soul.



Tears trickle my cheeks,

As the piano calls out a story,

As the violin weeps,

I sob.



Move my soul.



When the cello moans

A lost love,

A found hope,

I gasp.



Move my soul.



My heart beats quickly,

My skin chills.

The mouth opens to a note,

The piano smiles,

And the song ends.



Move my soul.

Tears from heaven,

Chilled and rounded,

Fall on petals fair.



Flower lonely,

Wrapped in leaves,

Begs the rain to desist.



But the clouds roll and boil,

Stretch and grow,

And tears fall soundlessly

Down.



Flower lonely

Remembers sunlight,

And its warm, gentle rays.



Pitter, Patter,

And wind begins to blow.

Tears become liquid daggers,

To pierce petals fair.



Flower lonely,

Shivers in the cold,

The tears, now so angry they fall.



Sunlight frantically calls out,

Seeking flower lonely,

But clouds push out further,

To block sunlight out.



But as the tear-daggers pierce,

So can the sun,

And with a scimitar of light,

Rips clouds apart.



As tears fade,

And warmth returns,

Flower lonely

Spreads its leaves out,

Content again

In the sun.

You should talk about it.

no, i shouldn't.

Talking will make you feel better.

no, it won't.

Don't hold it all inside, talk.

i don't want to.

You want to feel better right?

Get better?

yes.

yes.

So, talk.

no.

Why?

because i did. a lot.

with tears. and tissues.

to stony faces, and scribbling pens.

cold tiles. hard leather chairs.

and nothing changed. happened.

i'm done talking.

i don't need to talk to heal.

there comes a time

when the talking can stop.

the probing eyes,

the prim smiles.

do you want healing

or festering.

can we just sit?

It's in the tense stillness

The quiet.

The beating of my heart in my chest,

So shaky and shallow.



It's the fist in the air,

The blood on my lip,

A red river down my face.



It's the shattering of a heart

Of innocence,

A trampled flower.



It's the thought

That just once



I'd hit back.