This skeleton was given me to the day I was born.
Second hand from the consignment store,
Brittle with age,
So every time my heart beats too loud
I break a rib.
You could make a xylophone from my rib cage.
Every note would crumble under your fingertips,
Like the love letter you burned in 8th grade,
Because nothing burns faster than innocence.
Every day my heart breaks from the weight of the world
And the violence it houses.
Every day I am sighing, crying, dying for your souls
But I am no Jesus.
I am not sinless.
I wear my guilt like a scarlet letter
Gaping like an open wound across my chest
Pouring out regret.
I embrace this imperfection
With arms like a broken cradle
I can only rock to one side.
And maybe things fall out sometimes
But I hold the things that matter most.
At night you can hear my soul wailing
From beneath the blankets.
This skin is too thin to keep out the chill,
And your words are as cool as lemonade on a summers day.
Drink up. Tell me what my tears taste like.
I bet they taste like the dust that settled in my feet
Because I have been standing for far too long.
I am too young, to feel this old.
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