Skin by 7ala Abdullah

Posted on February 11, 2013 by

2


I am a glass bowl.

My goldfish heart

needs to be reminded

every five seconds

of who it really is

and more often than

not, I just swim

around in circles

trying to figure out

how and when I drowned.

But I keep sinking

and rock bottom keeps

pulling away from me

and I miss the feel

of solid ground beneath

my feet and my mother

once told me that

falling is just another

form of flying so I have

made a home of this

chronic descent.

 

I am the product of

everything that has ever

brought me to my knees.

I am the product of

decade’s worth of scraped

skin and I know I have

made my own bed and I

know that the polite thing

to do is to just

lay in it but I swear

that I have forgotten

how to lay still.

 

Teach me

to remember.

Teach me

to open my hands because

I’ve closed them off

for so long that I

have even forgotten how

to hold myself.

 

But understand:

I am neither  unbreakable

nor fragile.

 

I am all these

stories trying to claw

their way out of skin

and I will not rest

until I’ve spoken.

 

Understand:

I am restless, reader.

 

Understand:

this isn’t art or beauty,

what I do to myself on a

daily basis, and this is neither

joy nor sadness, what you

see on my face, but I will

breathe in this

water and quietly will it

to seep out of my fingers

in ink because my goldfish

heart has lived too many

lives in a lifetime and

all I’m left with are

these stories so

 

understand me when I say:

I am learning to breathe

unconventionally. My

pen is cutting gills through

my skin. I am learning to

breathe and I am teaching

myself resilience.

 

I am a glass bowl and

today my heart

is a goldfish, but I am

working on it becoming

that ray of light reflecting

colours on the walls

of my chest, and reader;

I promise that one day,

I will get there.

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