Greedy Are The Trees

There was a little girl. Maybe she was in me; maybe she was me.

But she talked too loud and she hurt and she cried and I didn't know how to make her stop.

So I slapped a hand over her mouth and held it there until she stopped struggling. Until it was quiet.

Maybe it was hate; maybe it was fear. I'm not sure why I did it and I don't know if she's still here.

Sometimes I feel echoes in memories of the person I used to be. The kind that feel like hope and pain and the unknown.

The me that cared so much I couldn't stand it. The feelings clawed at my throat and snubbed hot cigarettes in my eyes.

The emotions that set my limbs to restless and my heart racing until I was so exhausted i'd drop.

The me that was vulnerable. I killed her so I could be stronger, so I could be safe.

I feel distantly that I should mourn her but I can't think of a single thing about her to miss.

Maybe I'm not supposed to find myself in the past. Maybe I'm not going to achieve some mythical closure by carrying this sad corpse around with me. Maybe the best thing I can do is put her to rest an move on.

After all, you can't bring back the dead and I think that applies to yourself most of all.

You loved me when we were both broken

But you got better and I didn't

That sobering moment when you are brushed by death. Only by proxy; a tragedy twice removed.

But you see different, taste different, feel different.

Confronted by the fragile state that is humanity. When death is more than just mortality and morbidity.

Floating without even grief to hold your heart. Unbroken and unsure.

When worlds collide they do so violently.

Crashing together with a destructive passion.

They set fire to each other and are burnt up in the process.

But what is left in their wake is what we live for.

You pluck out old bones from your body like errant thought; dropping them carelessly to the ground.

They crunch and crack under thick black boots; crumbling to dust.

And you sigh as if this change and growth in yourself is tedious and detached as the pruning if a bush.

Cutting away stray branches with the sickening crack of bone.

Brushing them away with the sweep of your hand as if these pieces never came from you; they aren't of use.

And I wish at once to be as numb and strong as you.

The only difference between a monster and a hero is motive

Sometimes the most human thing about someone is their inability to feel like a person.

I was never meant to have a body.

My tethered little pet.

So much responsibility to look after.

So much washing and clothing and tucking away.

I was never meant to rot so slowly.

From diseases, I will never know.

So much tending to my body needs.

So much aching and soothing and drugging away.

I was never meant to hold it's hand.

Like a mother holds a child.

So much guarding it needs.

So much hiding and cherishing and giving away.

I was never meant to have a body.

We’ve spent so much time describing people as beautiful things, I think it’s time we try describing things as beautiful people.

I got good at leaving; but I'm asking you to stay.

These words have been with me for so long they aren't easy to say.

I'm afraid if I speak them to the empty air there won't be anything left of me.

I haven't tried before; I just watched them leave.

So I'm hoping this time, if I give these words to you.

You'll take their place in my chest and say you love me too.