Thursday, November 19, 2009

vodka did this

Blue and green and mustard.
Concrete floors and bruised foreheads.
Vomit and blue raspberry vodka.
Lysol and Walmart.
And you.
The best thing about tonight
Is that I got to sleep cradled
By your strong arms and I
Felt safe.
Forget the heaving and the
Lettuce leaves and the
Cucumber slices floating
Around like baby green
Ships on your floor.
Forget the headache
And the unsteady legs
Because you were
My safety.
No, no. I am too
Vulnerable and I
Want to die and I
Shouldn’t be weak-
Lamb eyes, doe eyes-
It will get me ravaged and
Torn and broken again and again.
Listen, listen. I just wanted
To forget that I shouldn’t
Remember. And remember.
I cried to you, you said.
I told you about malformed hands
And bug-eyes and holey underwear.
I cried. I haven’t cried about that
Ever. Ever because I had been weak
And I needed to be strong. Stronger.
But I cried that night.
While you held me and
Breathed in my vomit-crusted hair.
Beautiful, you said.
“Beautiful,” I cried ”is a fucking lie.”
And you exuded truth, but I am scared.
You and your soft, baby-blonde hair
And white ear whispers.
Maybe if you told me the truth
I will listen. Maybe if you told me
The truth and held me in your arms.
Because safety is in honesty.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Sound your barbaric yawp over the rooftops of my blog: