Nobody knows of the years I’ve spent
freeing my mind from stone,
chiseling away the lies my mother told me
until they’re nothing more than rubble.
There are those that will try and understand,
as I have tried to do with others misfortunes
however none can know of them in their entirety.
For our hells are our own,
and though you may feel the heat
your flesh will remain without blisters.
My feet are calloused from walking on pebbles
and my shoulders are finally strong enough to carry my burdens.
But these experiences have left me trembling
afraid to let my heart be made home to another.
To love is to lose and with vulnerability comes sorrow.
My roots are still shallow, and the fight for sunlight is constant.
I’ve crafted myself from bone and precious silks,
soft to the touch but not easily broken.
And I cannot allow the identity I’ve built be eclipsed
by attachment to someone else.
I belong to me.
-K.M.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
Nobody knows of the years I’ve spent
freeing my mind from stone,
chiseling away the lies my mother told me
until they’re nothing more than rubble.
There are those that will try and understand,
as I have tried to do with others misfortunes
however none can know of them in their entirety.
For our hells are our own,
and though you may feel the heat
your flesh will remain without blisters.
My feet are calloused from walking on pebbles
and my shoulders are finally strong enough to carry my burdens.
But these experiences have left me trembling
afraid to let my heart be made home to another.
To love is to lose and with vulnerability comes sorrow.
My roots are still shallow, and the fight for sunlight is constant.
I’ve crafted myself from bone and precious silks,
soft to the touch but not easily broken.
And I cannot allow the identity I’ve built be eclipsed
by attachment to someone else.
I belong to me.
-K.M.
