today, i looked into the mirror,
and under the hollow cheeks and tired eyes
i saw the ghost of someone i used to be,
back in the days of dimpled cheeks and gap-toothed grins
and oversized jumpers,
and i yearned.
those were the days of hurling ourselves off swings
to see if we could fly,
of doing backflips off monkey-bars
for the sheer joy of it,
of chasing each other round and round the playground
until our legs felt like lead and we were breathless with laughter
for no reason at all.
those were the days of dirt caked under fingernails
and knees covered in scabs;
souvenirs from various painful encounters
with the sun-soaked concrete.
i hated the sight of my own blood back then,
sharp and red as it was,
and so i’d wail in banshee fashion
until it was all patched up under a nice neat bandaid
which i'd proudly show off to my friends
(“no, I didn’t cry at all!”)
now tubes chew at my skin instead of sunlight,
and i am always out of breath
even though i do not run.
there is scarcely a scratch to be found on my body,
but my pulse has never been so weak
nor my legs so tired.
i hold the memories of those distant days
- tiny glowing bodies -
in the palms of my hands,
and maintain a reverent distance,
because there is no way
i will ever be that young or that carefree again.
still, sometimes i look into the mirror
and can almost reconcile my weary reflection
with the person i used to be.
and i long to shed this ruined skin, this brittle body,
and go back to the good old days
when everything was simple
and pain could be fixed
with a dora the explorer bandaid.
and sometimes, i want to burst through the doors and run,
atrophied limbs flailing, frantic heart pounding,
and catch muted copper sunbeams
with my hands outstretched.
most of all, i want to stumble.
i want to stumble
and i want to fall
and i want to bleed -
just to prove to myself
that i still can.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
today, i looked into the mirror,
and under the hollow cheeks and tired eyes
i saw the ghost of someone i used to be,
back in the days of dimpled cheeks and gap-toothed grins
and oversized jumpers,
and i yearned.
those were the days of hurling ourselves off swings
to see if we could fly,
of doing backflips off monkey-bars
for the sheer joy of it,
of chasing each other round and round the playground
until our legs felt like lead and we were breathless with laughter
for no reason at all.
those were the days of dirt caked under fingernails
and knees covered in scabs;
souvenirs from various painful encounters
with the sun-soaked concrete.
i hated the sight of my own blood back then,
sharp and red as it was,
and so i’d wail in banshee fashion
until it was all patched up under a nice neat bandaid
which i'd proudly show off to my friends
(“no, I didn’t cry at all!”)
now tubes chew at my skin instead of sunlight,
and i am always out of breath
even though i do not run.
there is scarcely a scratch to be found on my body,
but my pulse has never been so weak
nor my legs so tired.
i hold the memories of those distant days
- tiny glowing bodies -
in the palms of my hands,
and maintain a reverent distance,
because there is no way
i will ever be that young or that carefree again.
still, sometimes i look into the mirror
and can almost reconcile my weary reflection
with the person i used to be.
and i long to shed this ruined skin, this brittle body,
and go back to the good old days
when everything was simple
and pain could be fixed
with a dora the explorer bandaid.
and sometimes, i want to burst through the doors and run,
atrophied limbs flailing, frantic heart pounding,
and catch muted copper sunbeams
with my hands outstretched.
most of all, i want to stumble.
i want to stumble
and i want to fall
and i want to bleed -
just to prove to myself
that i still can.
for robyn. i'll never forget you.
