Run.

Do not let me run.
Because I will. I will run away from you faster than you can inhale the breath that leads to the word "stop". I will never stay around to hear you barricade me; I will never be there for the moment where you hold out your arms to me, because my back was turned to you long before your brain processed the neurological synapses that told you to cry out for me. I will be gone before you could ever realize that I loved you. And while I run away as fast as my weak legs can carry me, I will begin to falter and realize that I love you; the tears staining my face and making my eyes red and burn were flowing for a reason.

Simply lovely.

You are simply lovely.
And so I want you to see His face.
Because the beauty
that radiates off of you
off of your skin,
off of your words,
off of your heart,
is the same that comes forth
from His breath.

Beautiful plague.

It took me minutes
to realize that this was wrong.
It then took me hours
to be able to breathe again.
I paced the world,
 empty and lifeless,
because I felt something inside me -
something colored
with hope
and naivety-
disappear as quickly as it did
the last time my heart broke.

I screamed on the inside
Because my Master blessed me
With the beauty of feeling
The pain
The fear
The horror
Pooling in their hearts.
My Master plagued me
With
The pain
The fear
The horror.

And the world
Took its evil hand
And pulled
The trigger.
And the world
Took its good hand
And sent my Masters
People
Creations
Children
...children.

And His children who felt
The pain
The fear
The horror
Witnessed
The blood
The tears
The screams
Moved
As His soldiers.
And saved His injured child
And stopped His confused child.

While I roamed the world
Plagued with the gift
Of feeling the pain
The fear
The horror.
While never witnessing
The blood
The tears
The screams.
But the pain
The fear
The horror.

Silence.

Sitting in silence is so terribly intimate. For those who fear being visible to another soul, the silence burns and words tumble out of their mouths to put out the fire. The words that fall from their mouths are empty, and it destroys the beautiful flames blazing between the two. It is a pity - no, a sin - to disallow this intimacy. I am one of those cowards who fears being seen, who fears being the one without the words to say. I have an arterial of words built under my tongue for any moment where I fear the burning silence. An arterial of words under my tongue, but only a few in my soul.

Days long gone.

I remember you laughing; that uncontrollable laughter that overtakes your body, makes you bend from the waist up and kick you knees out. The laugh that erupts from your chest, high and low at the same time and full of intoxicating and unexpected joy. The laugh that ends with your slow and deep breaths, and wiping your face with your palms and fingertips. The smile that lingers while the laugh fades. I remember it well.

I also remember your carelessness, your ability to run around with a light radiating off of you, that no one had taken and tried to stifle yet. Your heart, worn on your sleeve. You words toppling from your mouth. Your innocence coating your movements, your speech, your thoughts. The decisions you would make in the blink of an eye. The way you exhaled when waiting for the words to come because the silence that lingered bothered you.

Mostly, though, I remember your eyes. They were big and brown and dark in color. Yet they were so bright. Through your eyes shone something unexplainable. Through your eyes shone your heart, not yet broken. Through your eyes shone your soul, so trusting, so young.

Child.

I was a child. I held the world in my hands; the mountains had peaks and the oceans, bottoms. I could speak of love as if I had created it with the same limbs that climbed the mountains, breathed into it with the same lungs that explored the depths - but it never touched me. I believed that the world was filled with marvelous fools who squandered after love and collected its pieces as if it could ever truly be held in their clumsy hands. I was not one of those marvelous fools. Because I was a child, and believed that I could never be harmed. If I was never to be harmed, I would never need love - because I can climb my own mountains, dive into my own oceans.

The first light of love can stab a person with the utmost pain and misery. A gift given but not received lies on its resting place, waiting for the day when the reciever's hands can grasp it and the giver's heart can fully give it over. Once love stabbed me with enough vigor, I accepted it. But I did not look into the giver's eyes.

I held the pieces of love; they were uncomprehendable to me. A new language that I feared to uncover. So I continued to climb my own mountains and swim in my own oceans. I was still boundless - I was not one of those marvelous fools. But I still held love in my hands; I kept it bound to my palms.

And then Love sent a man; some form in which I could understand it. I do not speak of the Christ figure I was educated fully in (but in my heart knew little of). No, I am speaking of a human man. Flesh - as sinful and thin as mine.  A man that sought Love - a man that believed in love. A man sent to give me a tangable understanding of the gift that I had wrapped in my palms, yet to become stale.

This man was sent to me. And then sent away. And I gave him the pieces of what I collected; I gave him the small shards that had begun slicing into my palms because they became too painful for me to bind to my own flesh. I gave him what had slowly become his. I gave him the pieces from my hands, but they had become so embedded in my palms that I had to give him pieces of my own flesh, my own blood, my own being. I had given him the gift that I was given - and my hands were finally empty of the love.

As I gripped the empty air around me, I realized I had become one of the mighty fools that squandered the earth for love. All I had left to show of my successes in collecting the pieces were the wounds still overwhelming my palms, palms which had become of a thicker flesh. The rest of my outer shell had become thicker, more difficult to puncture, as well. I was no longer a child, but a hard, leathery being.

It took me many stumbles and failings before I realized that something was inside of me. The physical pieces that were once embedded in my hands were gone, but had left something to flow through my blood stream and pump through my heart. I stood up from the grimy earth where I squandered for pieces of love, and understood the reason my flesh had begun to grow thicker. It was encompassing the original gift that had been stored within me ever since the giver had handed it to me. He had given me Himself - the gift giver, the being of Love, was inside of me. And my flesh began to thin out, so that I could now be His messenger, like the man was to me. And I no longer believed that I had created the mountain peaks and the ocean bottoms. But He did restore my belief that, with Him, I could never be harmed. I needed Love, for I was His child.

Teeth.

Sometime in May of 2013
 
Why does feeling reside in my teeth?
When I was in danger,
I felt the cold reality in my teeth.
When you told me to "shut up bitch"
I bit down my words,
grinding them between my teeth.
You hit me
and made my entire body shake
but I felt it in my teeth.