Slowly,
Shaky on my feet, like a child
I was practically a child,
When you found me.
Shaped me, molded me as clay
Your fingerprints, careful, intentional
Slowly,
They made my masterpiece,
My words, my life, my soul
Yours.
But here I am alone,
Knocky knees, pale cheeks,
Chapped lips and aching ribs
What am I to do with this control?
Slowly,
The world turns, still.
My own is shattered.
It lies on the glittering pavement
Where I fall to my knees,
With handfuls of my hair and racketing sobs,
Screaming with the anger, the hurt, the ache
Drawing all the attention I wished I'd drawn before
A cry for help, an outreached, black-veined hand
Though all in my mind,
Because I walk past, on the pavement,
And I walk home.
Slowly,
I breathe.
I blink, my eyes dry.
I've cried every tear I can cry
For you, or really,
For myself.
What's left is a battered, brittle, brackish soul
And a body in upset.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 12:37 AM UTC
Slowly,
Shaky on my feet, like a child
I was practically a child,
When you found me.
Shaped me, molded me as clay
Your fingerprints, careful, intentional
Slowly,
They made my masterpiece,
My words, my life, my soul
Yours.
But here I am alone,
Knocky knees, pale cheeks,
Chapped lips and aching ribs
What am I to do with this control?
Slowly,
The world turns, still.
My own is shattered.
It lies on the glittering pavement
Where I fall to my knees,
With handfuls of my hair and racketing sobs,
Screaming with the anger, the hurt, the ache
Drawing all the attention I wished I'd drawn before
A cry for help, an outreached, black-veined hand
Though all in my mind,
Because I walk past, on the pavement,
And I walk home.
Slowly,
I breathe.
I blink, my eyes dry.
I've cried every tear I can cry
For you, or really,
For myself.
What's left is a battered, brittle, brackish soul
And a body in upset.