Eyes lock,
The pendulum ticks,
Shifting and rocking the angels back into tune,
Into alignment,
The song is sung from the heavens,
The harmony,
Itching to be heard, now, screaming,
With clicks on jigsaws,
The comfort is felt,
and I just know,
Yet everything beneath me, seems so out of line,
It feels as though the ground is crumbling,
and I am running to safety,
The uncertainty is rancid,
I find myself seeking guidance from self,
But none is found,
yet its all there, inside my flesh,
pounding, each layer of tissue,
each artery, every vein,
the cappilaries all leaking,
underneath it all,
my heart beats heavy, he knows the truth,
I find myself distrusting my own self,
the uncertainty ravenous,
To find home in self,
I try to trace the edges of my skin,
Remind myself of the physicality of myself,
The wholeness of this coconut body,
The rough husk of my shell,
All the knocks it’s taken,
The sweetest parts of me, inside,
Hidden, beneath the thick beaten brown skin,
Armor to protect,
Hydrate self from the lock of lips,
And bite with the whole mouth,
teeth included,
the wet flesh inside,
The coconut,
How sweet I am, despite my shell,
I don’t feel steady,
or rather half of me does,
branches of me feel strong,
others feel like waves constantly crashing at shore,
The lighthouse seems out of reach,
yet its bright as ever,
But my kayak seems stuck,
Everything is disentegrating in front of me,
the ground beneath me collapsing,
like a roof has been shattered by a hurricane,
there is rain every night,
everything is soaked,
I wash the towels out every morning,
I cannot find words to describe this alienation,
this wordless association,
this grief that has left me hollow and full,
its not a burning anymore, it doesn’t hurt,
only a confusion that fills the room,
like a vortex, heavy and musty,
this alienation towards my blood,
how they have soaked my innocence in pigs meat,
and hung it out to dry,
I have been called satan so many times,
I used to to wonder if I should just slip into the dark,
then at least, the vulgarity would make sense,
now they only lie to my face,
oh,
and my own blood Mother has left me,
again,
in the name of Religion this time,
and who am I to deny that of her?
the floor is wet,
and I am slipping,
I am mopping the dirt, day and night,
Repainting the walls of my house,
Looking for my father unknowingly for weeks now,
for some guidance,
but I find myself grabbing the Mop,
standing upright again,
I will clean up the unholy,
and make beauty of this gift that was served to me.