The room was cold.
The muffling curtain shut out light at my window.
The air was thick, pungent of alienation.
I thought of my father who sat in silence.
He made me breakfast.
I thought of my mother who left the house in the morning
Before I woke up.
I thought of the child who came before me, an unknown face,
Dying in her belly,
And the woman who raised me with a never spoken grief
For a never born baby.
And I think of the child to come after me,
Existing in the non-existence inside my womb,
Their face,
A white daisy withered too early.
Oh Mother, I am so ashamed, Mother.
A crack in this mask has made me naked.
I searched and searched, and found nothing to cover me.
The world used to be not so big, I so small.
A whale used to sing to me from across the ocean,
Now I’m afraid I can no longer recognize its song,
Before it dies, and falls, and fades away.
So much void, so much sound,
The aloneness suddenly became deafening,
And in its wake I can no longer discern,
Had I loved an idea of a person that is no longer they?
Like art and literature,
A book, a song I love,
But with flesh and bones, a tangible face,
Vivacious, alive.
Divine Eros showed me his face behind the veil,
And whispered to me an unknown craving,
For earthly warmth, love, and companionship.
Do I hold a false tongue?
Am I silenced by the crushing waves,
The blank space?
Is it cynical to long for what you renounce,
And turn your head away at this image you see,
Staring back at you from the looking glass?
What is it that you saw,
That reflection,
A quest, a question, an enigma?
The body possesses more than my mind comprehends.
But do not take my relinquishment as cowardice,
No; I shall love, I must love!
The passerby carried a burning flower in his hands.
He told me beauty can grow from misery and pain,
From loving, from love,
That I shall present my wounds with valor and pride.
The room is cold.
The room engulfed me.
The room echoed my existence,
Bouncing off the white wall, the ceiling, and the window sill.
The room is cold and I shuddered,
As air started to flow through my nostrils.
The flesh under my fingers, however,
My skin, my blood, and my bones,
Soft and warm.
