Untitled by Rabha Ashry

I can feel the clashing starting in my head the weapons in my hands there are sharp things wrapped around my fingers and if I make a fist i’ll finally pierce through my wrists / palms like I always said I would like the jesus on the cross in the movie I was forbidden to watch like the maudlin white man on the cross with the blushing cheeks and the tear rolling down one cheek and the porcelain eyes porcelain like my eyes with the right combination of meds and alcohol and self loathing

but no I’m putting everything down and backing away and one day I’ll be strong enough to turn around and walk away I won’t be afraid of my vulnerable back face to face with the poison soaked weapons mom put in my hands when she kissed my 2 year old face for the last time

one day I’ll be strong enough to turn around and walk away like I chose to like I’m the puppet and the puppet master and all the strings are my hands ready to be snipped off (I still can’t resist a convincing marionette cliche) (am I the hulk or Bruce banner?) (when do I become both?)

my eyes are heavy like pillows filled with the down of ducklings murdered for my comfort my heart is heavy like the blanket every Egyptian has one of in their house i’ll take a picture later just for the pattern just so the colors would burn inside your eyelids for the rest of your life

I would tell you more but I’m on a very strict word fast