poetry

You Are Eyes Squeezed Tightly. {poetry}

{via Pinterest}

{via Pinterest}

 

These words have been a long time coming…

They’ve tried to come out

so many times,

but I swallowed them

and pushed them down,

like clothes through a laundry chute.

I buried them

with sand from the ocean

and mud growing flowers

from under the trampoline.

Until one day I realized

that you are the mud.

You are the mud

covering my hands,

making its way to my cheeks,

 and my clothes,

and my hair,

and my shoes.

You are the tracks in the kitchen,

when I sneak lemonade,

even though mom said no more

until dinner.

You are the footprints

following behind me,

no matter where I go.

You are the memories

in the closet where

you stole everything.

They tell you to share

when you’re little…

To always split the cookie in half

when you’re having

a play date with your friend,

and to let her pick

which half she wants

because she is your guest.

I was your guest

and you took everything

away from me.

You took me in the closet

All of me.

Over, and over,

and over again.

You gave me memories

that turned into ulcers,

trying to claw their way

out of my body so hard

that I started to bleed.

But I can’t bleed you out.

You aren’t a thorn in my side,

or a sliver from bare feet

on a dock at the lake.

You aren’t a drifting eyelash

causing blurry vision

that I can clear in just a blink.

You are eyes squeezed tightly,

and silent screams.

You are cold-sweat nightmares,

and taping my eyes to stay awake,

because I am scared

of what I will remember next…

You are hiding in the crawl space

under the stairs,

because I don’t want anyone

to hear me speak my memories aloud.

I have tried to tell you

these words so many times,

but I wore out the H on my keyboard.

from typing hate so many times,

until all I could write was,

I ate you

I ate you

I ate you

And I did…

You live so deeply within

my bones that I swear

I can feel you shiver

from within my spine

when it’s cold outside.

You have surrounded my heart

with so much barbed wire

that I feel tiny pinpricks in my chest

every time someone makes

my heart beat fast.

You are the lead in my shoes,

and the cracked windshield of my car,

and the anchor dragging the boat,

all the way to the bottom of the ocean.

You are the monster discovered

so deep that science can’t even explain it.

They say there’s no way life

could survive down there.

That it isn’t possible for something

to thrive in those conditions

I wish that were true.

Haven’t you had enough?

Haven’t you taken enough?

Haven’t you showed up unannounced

and ruined enough weddings

and spoke now,

so your peace didn’t have

to be held forever?

Isn’t it time for me to find the peace

you hold so easily?

You are the mud between my fingers.

You are the formless,

lifeless, hopeless

mud that only shows up

when angels cry

from the clouds above.

I always knew that you were the mud.

But it wasn’t until I wiped you

from my hands,

and allowed my eyes

to shift their gaze

upward and away,

from your senseless mess,

that I realized you will

always be my mud.

But I am the flower

that grew far beyond your messy reach…

***

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Macaile Hutt

Macaile Hutt

Macaile Hutt believes the best perfume is Idaho mountain air, the deepest laugh often comes from the mouth of a child, and coffee is the answer no matter the question. She has had to learn the hard way that some words ache until they are said. Find your voice and let it be heard. Macaile would like you to join her on Facebook or her website, as you take your own heart and live this beautiful life in search of perfect moments in such a way that every moment becomes perfect.
Macaile Hutt
Macaile Hutt