I hate this photograph.
It speaks more than 1000 words.
Instead it punches me with the volume
Of 1000 impassioned voices.
And drives their meaning
To the back of my throat.
But I refuse to swallow.
The dry heave that pushes it back up
Leaves my stomach sour
With jealousy and loneliness.
I can’t look
And I can’t stop looking.
I shield my eyes with my hands
But I look through my fingers anyways
I take the joy of the picture
The grins on their faces
The sand in their toes
His arm around her shoulder
And transform it into something vile:
A poison that infiltrates my thoughts
A filthy dark cloud
Filling up my lungs.
It won’t let me breath
And won’t let me go
And won’t let me stop looking
At that unfortunately, unfathomably, beautiful photograph.