You Said
You said
I should be tougher,
more outspoken; let it
all wash over me.
You said
they’re sent to try us,
but I shouldn’t let them curdle
all that’s good within —
Your words,
well-meant, wound deeply,
make me feel
somewhat lesser.
For while their
condescending
shrinks the borders of my being,
and their
vicious biting
undermines my certainty —
You say
I should be something
other than I am.
I can, I can
fight, defend, spit
fire, howl down the
walls and wail
the banshee furies —
though only, for another.
I am porous, breathing in
the things held close beneath
your skin. These interlopers
infiltrate, disintegrate taut
membrane; pour out with
brutal force.
They wind me,
knock me down,
make me wonder
where I end,
and you begin.
I read subtext under
fingertips, feel out
hidden cues. Conversations
scar, oppress
in memory —
Shards of thought
caught in words
lodged deep
within my chest.
I coax each guarded
uttering, guide it
gently to the light, lay it
soft between us,
raw and blinking.
I’m reckless, and controlled,
a streak of wildness
tightly held.
I’m naked in emotion,
and unreadable.
I say too much, and
swallow down my rage
like razor blades.
Transmute the pain to
anthems sung
in solitude.
But in the end I’ll wear
my dress of red, shake
my limbs, snake
my arms, pulse
melody from
heartbeat
rhythm fluent in its song
close my eyes as
life inside, surges
and returns, overtakes
my sense and
sensibility —
and all the words
from you
and them
are nothing
but specks of dust
I brush
from the soles of
twirling feet.
Inspired by Terijo’s empowering prompt:
