When I close my eyes
I can see inside my soul,
like an x-ray machine,
looking deep inside my bones.
My muscle and sinew
are bound up tight,
and deep within,
my strength hides from sight.
It's locked away
behind thick, lonely walls,
housing carvings
of days
and lives
and messed up roles.
And here I fear
my crutches of support,
will crush beneath the miles
that keep me moving forth.
And I fear my bravery
has weakened my mind,
preventing my pen from bleeding innocence
onto these papery lines.
Instead my paper seeps the anger
that's become my foe,
that streams down my cheeks,
menacing and slow.
I wish I could wring out my heart
through a wire sieve,
saving only the savory
to funnel back in.
My fingers twitch and scratch
at these itches that bleed,
beckoning for some sort of reprieve,
so that I may breathe.
And so I reach beyond reason over distant miles,
holding tight to steady the rattle of my bones,
for far away smiles
that feel like home.
