strike after strike,
on the same wound,
wound I thought patchwork had healed,
had strengthened the grounding,
yet in your presence,
all the stitches are ripped apart,
every needle that knitted so carefully,
the embroidary ever so delicately formed,
all cut with one knife, that is your voice,
I do not understand why or how,
nothing comes out of my mouth when I see you,
Just murmers, and words that don’t make sense,
I cannot stop looking at your eyes,
or the way your curls sit on your face,
do not know what I want,
just feel like vomiting up the black beetles that form in my stomach,
hurling up the pain,
and running,
wish you stopped attempting to talk to me,
your honey skin, and your fake eyes,
I wish you stopped talking to me,
It is easier to see you and not exchange energy,
Your words are empty, with no depth,
for everything is still a fairy land for you,
Still baby pink and blue just for you,
Its as if I cannot communicate with you,
Then I remember it was always like this,
Maybe that is why I am mute,
Because why even engage with you,
When you are so far from reality,
in times like this I wish I had a mother,
wish I had a father to be able to call,
wish Ama was here,
Just to keep me calm, just to keep me from falling,
What would daddy say?
I don’t even know what I want,
What is making me weep?
What is the source of this pain?
My friends tell me its normal,
But what could be so normal of being wrenched by this emotion,
when it doesn’t serve you,
I thought I had released him,
thought I had forgiven and set him free,
Yet my eyes are bleeding,
He couldn’t even love me,
So why waste such water,
I need to dig up at the roots,
Sometimes I find that the source of the pain is entrenched with other things,
Not just him,
Most of the time I use this vessel of tears as an excuse to cry about family,
We must all drink more water,
I am severely dehydrated.