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What Comes From the Womb
My smile is painted on, cut and pasted into the flesh, as if I’m the Joker.
I’m questioned in a desolate room with walls padded by a mother’s under-toned touch.
As I melt from the water, she throws a missing link.
I know not whether to stay afloat or live on the vessel beside her.
I’m a bird losing feathers in mid flight, feeling the air in places that others have filled.
The feathers plucked by someone bigger than myself.
I know I feel.
I need wind beneath my wings not the tousled feathers ridden with experience.
I need to regenerate.
The walls never come down.
No matter how much light is shed upon a wilted flower, it will never feel the sensations of the sun.
I want, I need, and I hope.
When they portray the conscience in film, they do not tell you the angel is the blood and the devil is the heart.
I do not wish for the smooth boulevard but for the rugged mountain of heartbreak.
It’s amazing how letters can form a disease.
Its home is in my brain, collecting dust waiting for the inconceivable cure.
I do not show how I feel. Thoughts are weakness and words are strength. I speak what I mean and think what I know. I am me. I am interconnected.
My vital systems read the minds of the stripped and joyous souls. I can decipher my gut feeling beyond what others read of my pages.
I do not need things to be happy.
Just the knowledge that others are gives me hope that it is achievable.
I have smelled the unchartered territory. If I am to be let loose again, I will wage war on all others who seek the green pastures and sugary horizons.
I am my mother’s child, not my mother.
I need the water beneath my wings, not above my drowning figure.
I am a different bird with different hopes and yearn for a harder path.
I’m ready for the adventure no matter how long it takes.
I want to face the desert storm with beaming eyes and an open heart.
I will pass with shooting stars and clear sky fireworks.
I will get there and when I do…I won’t be pretending.