Monday, November 28, 2016

I am not a graceful person

I am not a graceful person.
I am not a Friday evening or a Saturday night. 
I am a Tuesday 2am. 
I am not a song of beauty or a lullaby. 
I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks. 
And my body is not the place one can call "home", 
for I am a broken window during February.

My bones crack on a nightly basis.  
I fall from elegance with a dull thud, 
and I apologize for my awkward sadness. 
I sometimes believe that I don't belong here, 
that I don't belong around people. 
Instead I feeli like I belong to all those leap days that didn't happen. 

I am caged in my loneliness,
while my heart craves for human interaction
beforemy mind slips to the abyss of insanity. 
Yet I never give its key 
cause misery is easy, misery is comfortable. 

And hearts are wild creatures.
Creatures of longings and bitter sorrows.
Creatures of passions and madness.
That's why our ribs are cages.
That's why my ribs are cages.

I am not a graceful person. 
I am not a red rose blooming in your garden.
I am a daisy in an open field. 
I am not a work of art that you admire. 
I am stains of ink  on a blank paper that almost say something. 

I am not a positive person. 
My dark thoughts wear boots 
and walk through my brain
with heavy steps. 
And my love is not like a flame to warm you
 in the first November's rains.
It's more like an iceberg 
threatening to wreck your soul if it melts away. 

Yet I still hope that spring will come for me too.
I still dream that  all the trails of the winter can finally leave my bruised body,
I am a paradox.
A confusion
A headache.

The way the light and the darkness mix under my skin,
have become a storm.  
You don't see the lighting,
but you hear the echoes.