bequest

̶D̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶D̶i̶a̶r̶y̶,

Dear you,

I will give you a second chance to split me in half and this time, I will lend you a helping hand. I will give you the chisel and I will give you the hammer. I will watch as you pull my skin tight and mark the cutting form with your fingertips and unspoken words. I will not ask for anesthetic and will not tear down over torn flesh and broken bones. I will let you snap my arms and rest them next to your tired head. I will watch patiently each stitch and each joint you place and misplace. I will let you embrace me with your aching kindness and raw force of self-pleasingness.

I will shed whatever skin I have left from the time my body was but a playground battlefield and my mind — a crooked cradle, in the era in which stifled weeping was not felonious. I will take one small step outside myself and pray for the water you have denied me so. I will watch myself die in the scorching heat and root for my last functioning muscle, my last gleam in the eye to arise and lift me blindly

Home.