24-72: Your internal organs decomposed
3-5: your very body started to bloat and blood containing foam leaked from your mouth and nose
8-10: you turned into your least favourite colour-red.

See, I'm trynna understand how I feel about you
I've learnt to love you the same way I've learnt to embrace my dark days.
It's fine until someone asks, 'Where is your dad?'
I smile and tell them you're late
You should see how their eyes lit up when I tell them,' it's fine, that it's okay'
They look dissatisfied
Like I'm supposed to cry talking about you
Like the loneliness In me should scream for comfort
Like the pride in me should shrink into nothingness
Like this heart should only beat for you
Like these hands should remind me that you once lived- existed, laughed and loved
Like I'm not complete without you
Like I cannot be the spitting image of you without trying to manifest my individuality
Like I'm supposed to shiver to the very thought of our memories.
Am I supposed to feel something?
Ain't I complete?
Ain't I a heroine?
Tell them
Didn't I carry my cross? Took all stones thrown at me and never asked for help?
Didn't I blossom into spring after you withered like leaves into autumn?
Didn't I carry my head up- shining into sunset?
You tell them!
Tell them not to feel sorry for me!
See, this life is crazy, love is fragile and good days don't last. So, it's okay...
It's more soothing knowing you're up there than down here...
So I figure, if my mother, the love of your life survived your fall, then maybe I, will survive the presence of your absence
I figure, loving you will not heal me but it will hold my heart the day I find the courage to heal myself
They say they're sorry for my loss
Loss?
No
I never lost you, you're not dead to me,
All we ever needed was time
That's all we lost...
So,Rest in me

The birds are cozy.
In their nests and in the trees.
A glorious Day!

Calm was the bluest of waters held back behind her glass.
With just a few words spoken that glass began to crack.
As if the highest note was reached from the lungs of a singer of opera,
the glass broke completely and I couldn't even stop her.
The water rushed and I held her close,
becoming the destroyer and her comforter; somehow I still mean the most.

She plucks feathers from the tiny hole
in her comforter, handing them
to my trembling hands as if she were
giving me pockets of conversation.

I crumble the feathers with my fingers,
feeling the softness and the lightness.
She gets up and ambles on to
the bathroom, as I drop the feathers.

When she is blow-drying her gorgeous
black hair, I step outside the house
and onto the patio to smoke
a cigarette, knowing she will not approve.

I sip on black coffee, hoping my breath
will reek a little less. After I finish
I come back inside and she walks
into the room, telling me she smells the smoke.

I feel embarrassed. I look down
at the carpet counting all the black
and brown spots, then I come across
the feathers, so white and immaculate.

I move closer to her and run my fingers
through her hair, feeling the knots and
the curls, leaning forward to kiss her lips,
thinking that it will rectify the situation.

She pushes me away and asks "Are you
trying to get cancer?" She crosses her arms
and huffs, narrowing her brown eyes
at me as if I were a suspect in a crime.

I put my hands on top of my head
and try my best not to shrug, but I
cannot help feeling indifferent. And
that feeling makes me think that I'm careless.

She shakes her head and taking a step,
she scoops the feathers from the carpet
and shoves them back into the comforter.
Glancing back at me she asks, "Why do you hurt yourself?"

And I do not have an answer for her.