I have always been honest
except for the times when I have to obscure
emotions into lines like these.
The amount of poems I have written
are also the number of times I lied
by fitting half truths into shells
of acceptable excuses.
We both know my words are dead
Bodies at the bottom of the lake
Without soul, without ships to anchor with.
They stare back at me, eyes without light
I couldn’t look away from them.
Tonight, I let the waters claim another victim.
Flushing blood from veins, disintegrating organs
Into solubles. I bathe into my own essence
Sweat and fragrance carried into ripples
Briefly glistening then disappearing
Preserving a memory.
All day long, I wait as an offering,
insides turned out- skin, flesh, bones-
prepared like an open feast,
all for the birds to eat.
My hands outstretched, I wait for them
to come and perched on my stiff shoulders;
to peck on my eyes and to peel away
layers upon layers of muscles and sinews
until they get to gobble my heart
which still grows on its own
as long as I stand on this very ground.
This ground…this fickle mistress
Of both death and life.
Seasons upon seasons, I stand here-
Never wincing at the pain.
Children cry at my demise
But I laugh as the birds devour.
Close your eyes.
Let the pain pass, the sickness wash over your tiny body.
It will be over soon.
Do not search for me. Do not fight it anymore.
Everything would soon be better
When you return where you once came from.
This is hard for both of us, I know.
I lament the lack of time.
I lament over the memories we haven’t made yet.
I lament that you have to go soon.
Take this piece of my heart
And run towards vaster lands.
Eat it. This is my last gift to you.
We both need to be strong for your journey:
Strong enough to leave.
Strong enough to stay.