day / night
every morning, the light shines in.
it beckons me to recall my person, my being
alive & breathing.
all night i battle to reject these notions of my existence
smothered by memories of an identity
where you were always my companion.
my battles feel heavy in my body
i finally feel the impact of the blows
that you used to absorb for me, into the warmth of your form
internalizing my pain, and bearing it as your own
worn discreetly beneath your skin.
what did it feel like, to have my blood in your veins —
and my heart beating in your chest?
did your eyes ever flutter in the midst of sleep
stirred and disturbed by my torments?
how did it feel, my tender and utmost beloved
to know the isolation of my memories?
figures who have long since passed before my eyes
yet linger, burned into the back of my lids.
imprinted, persistent; haunting me.
what is a preacher, without his tabernacle
but a man, deranged, yelling into the hollows?
what is a mother, without her child
but a possessed woman, cursing the emptiness of her embrace?
what is a botanist, without their flora and fauna
but a bewildered optimist, praying for dirt to become something beautiful and alive?
what is a lover, without her beloved
but a girl typing empty words into hands
pouring out of her like a bottomless hourglass
where time is both infinite and finite
grainy, forgotten, and unaccounted for.