I can feel the skeleton that is me beneath my face skin. It becomes closer and clearer each day. Breaking me down into less than human. Skin and bone. Skull.

There was a china cabinet and angel hair in our playroom. There was no other place to put it. It did not move with us when we moved. It must have been his mother’s.

The cabinet glass was a wall between us and its treasures. The angel hair. The tea cups. Keeping us out. This wall.

What I know now:

If you build a wall, morning glories will find it. Their heart-shaped leaves reaching out to you and your wall. They will break that wall down with their beauty. You are not trapped by it. Push your vine up and over. Let go your wretchedness. Let go.

As a child you are kept out of these mysteries. The angel hair. The tea cups. Your walls. You.

You are your own mystery.

You believe your parents feel all that you feel and you all that they feel.

You do not know. You only see these walls and wonder how to break them down.

Break them down, you. Break them down.

Reach your vine up and over. Your beauty. Your beauty.

Remain your own best mystery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 Comments on “the angel hair. the tea cups. your walls. you.

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