Sometimes I smile out of habit.
I don’t notice when it’s dishonest,
Because I’m so used to convincing myself it’s true.
You can fake it so much that it turns into your reality,
Even when you are pretending.
But sometimes pretending seems more familiar to me than reality.
I continue repeating and hearing the sound over and over again—
Feeling the stretch across my skin—
Feeling the void of emotion—
“Please forgive me.”
My thoughts cry for forgiveness from this notion
That I will never be good enough to
Measure up and be the version of perfect
I want to see—
Or feel in my body.
Maybe perfection would give me peace,
Or maybe it would destroy me completely.
I feel weight on my body,
But my mind is awake and waiting.
I feel hope.
Small, but it grows and makes each step lighter—
Like I’m lighting a fire
And searching for the spark that’s starts a flame—
I will wait.
I don’t want to sink into this feeling I have —
I want to bring the present to my past.
I’ve lived in the past long enough that it’s touched
The parts of me living in the now—
Not then, not at the end, but give me a beginning I can touch.
I want to feel loved.
I hate this present.
I hate how I have failed to show you depth and beauty and strength.
I gave you a torn reality that is fake and empty.
I am sorry.
I wish we could start over and find ourselves again.
Maybe we still can.
My eyes hold the dark
Like an open tomb
My mouth cries out
For someone to look at me—
I hear the boards creak.
I feel the walls crack
As dust fills my nose
And the floors shake
Like an earthquake.
Light crawls through the spaces
And my body relaxes.
I am not alone in this darkness.
I see you standing beside the rubble
Looking at me,
Waiting with an open hand,
And I begin again.
I push my body through the pieces of concrete,
Your eyes found me.
Your hands took mine,
And we left this place.
This place of dry bones and fallen things.