The Day My Feet Came Back Down to Earth

This is the last thing I want to hear,

Let alone hear it said in my own voice.

I’m glad the distance deafens as my screams bleed the trees.

Autumn red drips to crunch beneath your feet.

The fall always was your favorite.

Am I your favorite?

Now is your season and I am falling.

This thin air thickens as my thoughts begin to cloud.

Who are you?

Who are you with your gentle hand inside my chest?

Wearing my blood like silk gloves,

And I look so beautiful on you.

Your touch is perfect and smooth,

Drawing vulnerability like a siphon

Pulling what I lack into your confidence.

Let me bleed.

Let me bleed, for stitches are a tourniquet to what I need.

My pride violently stripped.

My pale skin cold, transparent.

I’ve never seen this side of me before.

Do you like what you see?

Please say you like what you see.

I’ll believe your lips but not your words

For feeling is believing

Or so I’ve heard.

Yet your hello is my truth

And your good-bye tears the scab from my side.

This blood is proof, I know I’m alive.

How much do you want to know?

How much do I have to bleed?

I am not enough.

I am not enough.

Self-inflicted martyrs cower in the face of grace

Blindly reaching for sacrificial blades.

Your hand is grace; my hand is confused.

Brings new meaning to our fingers intertwined.

I’ll hold on to yours… Please hold on to mine.

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