I Hope I'm One Of The Things You Hold Close When Your Feeling Empty

She tastes like the metallic burn of blood.

She smells like the pop of wood as the fire consumes it.

She feels like the static that clings to your clothes.

She looks like lightning as it cracks the sky.

And he fancies himself Zeus.

There was a little girl. Maybe she was in me; maybe she was me.

But she talked too loud and she hurt and she cried and I didn't know how to make her stop.

So I slapped a hand over her mouth and held it there until she stopped struggling. Until it was quiet.

Maybe it was hate; maybe it was fear. I'm not sure why I did it and I don't know if she's still here.

Sometimes I feel echoes in memories of the person I used to be. The kind that feel like hope and pain and the unknown.

The me that cared so much I couldn't stand it. The feelings clawed at my throat and snubbed hot cigarettes in my eyes.

The emotions that set my limbs to restless and my heart racing until I was so exhausted i'd drop.

The me that was vulnerable. I killed her so I could be stronger, so I could be safe.

I feel distantly that I should mourn her but I can't think of a single thing about her to miss.

Maybe I'm not supposed to find myself in the past. Maybe I'm not going to achieve some mythical closure by carrying this sad corpse around with me. Maybe the best thing I can do is put her to rest an move on.

After all, you can't bring back the dead and I think that applies to yourself most of all.

Name me not Cassandra

Name me not Cassandra for my voice it must be heard.

Even if you bind my mouth with fabric and brush away my word.

I claim not a higher wisdom for vanity or spite.

Only a point of view from far below your height.

I am cursed with the experience of an unwelcome hand.

And through this lens I now see my sister who too have been touched by man.

You may turn and shield your ears from me, laugh away my proof

But my mouth, it will not waver in telling you the truth.

Name me not Cassandra for your Helen is on her way.

She brings chaos and together we as women will make you pay.

She cries tears of stars and seas,

desperate to fill infinity.

You loved me when we were both broken

But you got better and I didn't

There are hands on my hips and I dread where they might go; cold and calloused and full of intent.

They inch up instead along my ribs; crawling and scraping against my skin.

Under my sternum they begin to dig; slicing deep with sharpened nails.

They stab and burrow deep in my chest; hands pressed in prayer barely brush my heart.

They snap my bones when they pull apart; prying me open to hungry eyes.

Yet still, I beat for their entertainment; exposed and bleeding and no longer me.

Many times people treat enlightenment like a concrete state. Like once they reach it they are above the world, impervious to it. Unaffected by change and time.

But its quite the opposite. Those who are truly in tune with the earth find that change us the only constant. They move with the tide. Sway with the breeze. Grow with the trees.

To reach your most natural state is to be in tune with what is inside you as you are with what is around you. To cut away your earthly ties only brings you farther from the mother.

To be connected with the ever raging fire of your soul is as important as being swept away in the tides of time. Always present, ever in motion.

If you hurt over every little thing, all you'll ever do is hurt

I was never meant to have a body.

My tethered little pet.

So much responsibility to look after.

So much washing and clothing and tucking away.

I was never meant to rot so slowly.

From diseases, I will never know.

So much tending to my body needs.

So much aching and soothing and drugging away.

I was never meant to hold it's hand.

Like a mother holds a child.

So much guarding it needs.

So much hiding and cherishing and giving away.

I was never meant to have a body.

I want to learn to love like you