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Sep 2019
I put the moon in the bathtub with me last night, just for some company.
While we soaked, I rummaged through my mind; thinking about the times that I could have used your help, if only I had said something then. If only I could take time by the hand and walk it back to those moments. If only thinking this way would provide nourishment of some sort. But it doesn't, in fact it does quite the opposite.
Fully awake in the depths of my anxiety, usually when I have the most to say.
Questions leave my lips in an almost inaudible  whisper. Will I be forgiven, when will my lunar lover leave me, how long do the mosquitoes that feast on me carry my scent with them.
If I speak too loudly, if I open my mouth too much everything will fall out.
Fragments, detached tissue, nightmares.
So I swallow, take in water, swallow.
Cough up some fire, spit out the remains of thunder I had left.
Angry at the water for welcoming the noise with ripples pushing away from me.
Reality set in.
Will you be strong when I'm this weak?
Will you wipe the drool hanging from my lips when I'm finally empty?
No, you won't.
I left the moon my soapy remains, you can have it back now.
Jalisa Allycia
Written by
Jalisa Allycia  25/F/New York
(25/F/New York)   
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