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My small hand encases only need two of your much larger fingers
As you edge me forward in tiny motions
My small and stinky steps are masked and concealed by my concrete stable ones.
Your brown eyes glittered in the light as you stared into mine,
You had told me “You’re going to be a runner someday.”
You had said that with the grace of a gazelle
I’d race past finishlines.
You had forgotten to mention that, they too, trip and lose control.
As I grew older my legs strengthened enough to hold
Both the weight of myself, and others that had decided to depend on me.
Society grew evil too, mom.
Their harsh words clawing at my throat and grasping my clammy palms.
I nearly choked on the radiating fumes of hatred countless times,
Taken back by your words,
“You will run as fast as the wind, babygirl.”
I knew you would’ve been so proud.
I had believed that I could run quicker than a single eye could blink,
As a gulliabke and optimistic child, it was realistic.
Then, I woke up one day and the sun wasn’t as bright as it had been a week before
Not to mention that my body had aged by many years,
And I just ran:
Away from my friends,
from my feelings,
from my fears.
Boy did I run fast.
At the speed of light my body began to disintegrate,
When your surroundings are moving that quickly you lose track of what limbs you began with.
In the end, no revelation came.
I still wondered if I had ran fast enough to make you happy.
Did I make you proud?
Did you raise that graceful gazelle, or am I just a stumbling doe?
Please let me know,
Evidence points both ways
And that, too, is eating me alive.