Don’t be it, don’t be the child to make me mother
don’t feel the grief in me requires parental consent
these be the affordability of you that tells me I need something more.
When did tears become something to fear?
Like streaks of black across the colour of your day,
an affront, a dis-perception
of how you want me to see the world right now,
But god damn it these are the frames I have been given,
the focus choose,
the view askew that just is,
and as much as I wish my vision blurry
do not deny me my eyes.
I say words you speak replies that shiver and sting off my syntax
I relay thought you say what you think and the smash-box-mouth of us stutters
It’s not your fault. I gave you the crystal ball but burnt the instructions,
hoped you would snort the ash like your favourite purr,
wanted me read like I needed, or spoke softly from my tone
the words in your mouth I wanted foreign.
I feel this, the anger, a constant more than my shadow
and you my love-lust-stranger
mistake of my trust, you just have to go with it…
…or don’t, which is what you are doing now,
and that will be the excuse i need to push you away.
Ibid this night, tomorrow is a calendar turn I cannot face
Inhale / exhale
Chest rise / chest fall
Strange how the motor functions stutter
into emotofunctions we don’t know how to control
Air sucked out of a room with no windows opened, doors closed
Hand clamped securely
and I am flailing arms / sitting still
kicking legs / lead weight
the sound of a heartbreak gulped inward
basic biological to-do’s escaping
There’s nothing in or of me that will be able to brace for this fall