If god ever comes in my dream And offers to grant me a wish I would wish for The endurance of a woman Who has seen her rapist In the eyes Fought back Lived to a ripe age — PD
I haven’t seen grief, I have only known that it walks quietly, In and around my room. And that it can see through me, Like I am made of glass. While I sleep, It carefully prepares a potion, Of everything bittersweet I remember, And boy, it carries a big sack of cotton balls. It dips them one by one, in the potion, Counting carefully till hundred. Then it puts my head in its lap,
We ride the waves I and you. On a wrecked down boat Far from shore. We are bruised a little And ready for more. We make a world In our heads and then We put some sunlight in there And some rain In our world there is no-one To wake us out of dream There is no-one to get us There are no f***ing sprints. There is a big rewind button
I dread 11 PM. I dread happy people. I dread happy people Telling me happy stories At 11 PM on a Monday Or any day of the week. I dread unbearable, continuous gossips And I dread complete silence too Silence in which I can hear My poor heart sing an elegy For whom? I don’t know. I dread being hard on myself, For things that were out of my control.
It starts with the eyes, then come ears Follow them tongue, nose and skin Eyes, I read about them in science class They have a blind spot, which makes sense, after all these years. It happened one Saturday morning, Like this one. Going through an old photo album I thought, Where are they, the people who were once visible, You could touch them. You saw them all over the place.