Song of Self

June 16, 2012
By ademirjian BRONZE, Weston, Massachusetts
ademirjian BRONZE, Weston, Massachusetts
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Song of Self:

[Stanza 1]
I am where the road tosses and turns
I am where the trees make a roomy roof over me
The crisp, bloody colored leaves crunch under my feet

Where the tall, twisted animals surround
Their fur stands straight, like sharp blades that cut into me
Where I can relate because I am like one

Where I can crawl and creep
And I can be just plain me

I am where I walk along dead, but unforgiving dirt
Although, I am completely alone
Alone as a deer would be in the sea
Alone as me being me

Where I see the song birds in their bristly, barbed nests
Where I can feel the hot, steaming breath of the grey wolf
I stop and freeze up
My shoulders tense
But, it all finally starts to make sense

Where the foreboding night is a deep, dark, bottomless pit
Where the sky makes like the ashes of a fire
Crimson red
Citrus orange
Cadmium yellow
And the only parts of bright, gleaming light
are the speckled stars spread like confetti across the ebony

Where the chaotic order of those stars suddenly aligns
And that darkness
begins to seep slowly into me
I am the peace that is soon found,
residing so lonely, yet calm and sound

Where the cold brisk breeze leaves a burning ache on my thin skin
The howling sound is as empty as a ghostly soul
And using my arms to protect me, I feel prickly sensations emerging from me

Where I soon become familiar with all that is around
Because I am left in the crowded –
But forever spacious sound

Where the blazing, boiling sun goes down, I turn to myself and recognize
I am my only friend.
Where I long for someone to follow my rambling, unsure footsteps
But then again not at all

Where the large cinnamon circle begins to rise
The burning shine starts to radiate in my eyes

I eventually fall into a quiet, unbroken sleep
Where I dream of only possibilities
Where I can peacefully,
rest my head to bed
Where I can finally feel
it all start to end

Where I can weave my wishes

[Stanza 2]
I am when I dream of the outside uncertain world
I feel my imperfections burn
and the way they incessantly peck and
finally puncture my soul
The punches and stabbing pokes of people I thought were friends
The remarks forever burned like a scorching branding iron
Imprinted on my skin

When everyone fled my side
I was left just wondering why

When I could hear the whispers echoing in my ears
The giggles as loud as a plane taking off
So loud but then it drifted off, though never forgotten

When the tears would come down like a wild rapid in a river
The dismal, dark black mascara that soon began to sting my puffy, scarlet cheeks

When I would open my deserted mouth,
the only sound out
was a piercing YELP
I could taste the salty ovals as soon as they entered my mouth
The warm, precious pearls that exploded as they hit the solid, ice ground

Gripping and pinching myself as if that would make me feel alive
When the pain would not stop as much as I tried

When I began getting pushed and shoved and jostled around
Couldn’t these girls hear all of my sounds?

Ripping my dark brown hair
Their bony, white fingers on a tear
Witch fingers pointing and casting curses,
Circling –
Swarming –
All around

When I felt myself spinning around, encircling the paternal giant
As each time I passed the raging red eye
I was stretched so taut
Trapped with the rest and doomed to repeat my pointless orbit

Like ripping the peel off of an unblemished orange
A Razor scraping and skinning the delicate layer off an untarnished apple
When I was the helpless victim
I was blemished and tarnished from the evils of girls who rhyme with witches

Yet sound
Tripping and fumbling nowhere near found

When I forced the rhythmic clunks of my two weak feet
And tried to make them sound upbeat –

When I could not compete

What had I ever done wrong?

Knocked flat on the ground, knees weeping warm, scarlet tears
That dripped and soon accumulated
into puddles that discolored the melancholy streets

When I think back to how I wish I could go back in time
When I was nine
I thought how I wished I could rise
and be alive

When I wished that wishes came true

[Stanza 3]
Then I am wishing I could get back just to hold her once again
I remember the long, blissful walks –
On the sunny, euphoric beach with my nana

Then she would stand next to me and
Hold my little dainty hand

Then I remember her telling me to watch the rough, multicolored sand
As the fresh, turquoise ocean currents
washed a refreshing splash –
filled with innumerable amounts of grains

Then I just wanted to stay cemented in that sparkly sand

Then the way she smelt when I would leap towards her for a hug
That Chanel perfume as fresh and floral
Then I knew she was my role model

Pretending to be just like her
Then I would feel the tingles of the scented mist
Gradually glide toward me
As I would spray it on my little circular face

Then how the house would smell like her—
for days –
But much like memories, those distinct smells;
Well, those also begin to fade

Then no one else would listen to my rambling, raspy voice
My nana would hold me in her arms
and listen so attentively and charmed
I remember how my nana would tell me all about history

Then I never thought I would wake up one day and have to remember
The fascinating stories she would orate

But what I regret the most
Was not the alluring seacoast
But how I did not always listen
And now all that I remember is how the sand glistened

I remember thinking about what would happen when she would be gone
Then how she would some day disappear
And I would some day never hear
that bright voice softly speaking, “Alexa, my dear”

Those tragic moments in my so far lived life, have formed and changed me

Then I used to laugh so cheerful and carefree
Then I was still naïve
and did not believe
or think of any sort of tragedy

Then I remember that laugh I was laughing when all
the damage
was done

Then on the back of that cart, I stood upright and innocent
Turning that corner, the thick dust rose up
And the last,
blurred vision was of my brown leather, riding boots

Then hands failing,
Like losing the slippery, ivory soap
As if I were falling off a cliff,
Trying to grasp a rope
I was again alone with no one around for support

Vision fuzzy like the curtains closing
Fire scorching and singeing, like stealing my sight

Then gasping for air as if it were my last few breaths

Then I felt as though I was back on that whirling and twirling orbit
The unbearable spinning, I felt myself go around
And around
And around

I could hear all of the children and adults around
Yet the sirens and ambulances did not make a sound

Wanting to bust out in howling screams, wanting to be able to breathe
Then I remember finally being in that ambulance bed
Gripping my moms sweaty, palpitating hand

Then arriving in the hospital and being carefully placed
like a fragile doll in a bed
I did not move,
I did not talk,
I did not budge,
I did not speak
I was left with the diagnosis that I had fractured my skull and suffered a bruised brain

Then one man entered the gloomy and unpredictable room
He took his ice cold, metal car key and ran it down my heated and bruised skin
He told me if I could feel that sensation burning in my pulsating veins
I would be OK

Then I remember thinking endlessly about the set backs I would have to face
I remember thinking how my dreams,
would dramatically transform
I remember thinking how my life would be changed
On that day when everything was almost taken
Almost, away from me

Then I remember wishing it would all just stop
How much simpler my life would have been if I had never had that trauma

Then I think about adventures and dreams and wishes

[Stanza 4]

Now I wish that I could go back to the young, and impulsive girl I was

Now I like how my life is
And the young lady I’ve become

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then…. I contradict myself;

Now when I open my eyes, I see dreams
Now when I close my eyes, I see dreams

Now I know that there are new and different dreams
I know that I will one day find that place where I can rest peacefully,
In the forest where the chirping surrounds me like a stockade
The babbling brook is my moat

Where there is no one around
When I was stuck on the ground
Then it was all a blur
Now I am her

Now I can ramble on

But please do not quote
For my story,
Well now that is still being wrote

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