The ache is here.
It sits in my limbs, under heavy flesh.
It strings itself into my muscles.
Holding me captive.
Eyes dull in sockets, seeing but from
Far away… but inside.
I’m in here, searching endlessly for my place in the world.
Each day wraps its hands around my throat. Somedays I can breathe, smile even.
And others, I’m silently choking.
Gasping for air, wondering “Is this the air I was promised in this life?”
Because my lungs still burn with each gasp, this air I’m meant to live on.
Recycled, refiltered, through days of pained resilience.
Must I live on manufactured minutes? On acid air? On resounding resolve that hurts so deeply, but is adored?
You adore my obedience, my glow and color I add to your system. I’m delicious and pristine for the picking.
My paper wings tugged, my petals pulled…
At least I’m pretty when I’m screaming, when you make me scream, you know you’ve won, and here I am, beautiful,
My blood a main course, my tears a refreshing drink, my sweat just desserts.
Consumption – you consume me. You mock my beauty and my spirit.
You deceive me, say I’m outstanding, but just light me up and inhale my being.
I’m stuck inside you.
Banging against the iron bones of your ribs, your jail in yourself where you keep people like me…there’s others with me.
Shaking, scratching, sobbing through lack of sanity… the air is thick, heavy, and only makes me dizzier.
I smell brokenness and confinement gropes my skin, looking eagerly for what else it can take.
I hope you choke on me. On my body, on my spirit. I hope you have to pick me out of your teeth for years after I’m gone.
I hope that I’ve painted your black insides with enough chaotic color for you to understand me (us). I hope I consume you, before me, you relentless, ravenous machine.
You monster. May you miss me when I’m gone.