Skin by Raghad Rijraji

Posted on February 11, 2013 by

0


Listen,

I’ve tucked you away

in an abandoned gift shop

in the loneliest street inside my mind.

(I know your address well.)

I’m now ready to tell you a few things.

 

Go to the largest

body of water you know,

let your heavy ghosts

 

sink

and learn this:

Water flows back to itself eventually.

 

All this time

you thought

your mind

was trying to cripple

you with fear,

it was only trying

to let you know

that your heart

beats

for you.

It is a chamber

of light that has

been pumping

the shadows out of your eyes.

(You don’t know this yet.)

 

So surround yourself with water

until you flow back to yourself.

Listen,

the days have

just started

to smell like

Autumn when you

packed your things,

left this place,

lost your heart,

and got it broken by

melancholic sighs

and nostalgic eyes.

By winter you started

the healing process.

It was the most

beautiful thing

I’ve witnessed.

 

While the water is rising up

to kiss our moonstone bones,

and the ghosts are exhausted,

crawling at our feet,

let’s step on every land mine

we’ve ever planted inside

ourselves.

 

There’s no room

for tragedy here.

You and I

are just trying

to make enough space

to grow

comfortably

contently

inside our skin.

 

Godspeed, heavy river.

Wash it all away.

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