what it feels like
to be two parts of one whole?
To not be sure
of which half you’ll wake up as
in the morning?
to feel your heart
constantly wedged in your throat
for fear of saying
what’s on the mind
of the sad half of you?
There are some days
I never touch down to reality
some days I feel the clouds
of my ancestors
begging me to be brave
and stand strong
but it’s so hard
when you’re weak
from wanting
to wear the paths
of your prayers
like circles
around your fingers
because then there’d be proof
that you’d been searching
for the map all along
and people might stop thinking
that maybe
your just listening
to the beating
of your own
misunderstandings.
I’ve spent so much time
becoming acquainted
with the hole in my pillow
my head leaves
when I just want to be left alone.
I’m so afraid
that if I share the riverbeds
beneath my eyes ,
reveal all the joy
the darkness
has stolen from me
that someone
will start seeing false cracks
in my smile
the way the moon
saw my tongue
and tried to fill it with it
with visions of the fields
so I could run
away with my depression
and build a home for us
beneath the weeping willows.
I find it’s better
if I stay home
beneath the covers
because then
I don’t have to explain
to broken faces
why I can’t find the beauty
anymore.
I can’t wake up
another morning
with lead in my bones.
I guess this is my cry for help
