aida-alene

It feels like locust dust, falling from our mouths, Words of spindling terror that spill down our bodies to land on their heads, Because we are teaching their infant souls to feel hate A weapon of heat and radical confusion that blasts through gossamer bone Builds sky high fences that keep them bound to the grasses we have grown But they don't know, they don't know why, Those fence posts are sunk so deep into one place, Or why they have learned to throw stones and stay close to what they know. Because they watch us, with thirsty eyes, Drinking up our crimes likes its truth. They have learned not to feel the skin that bruises with ea

I wear her skin, as often as i can, until my brittle bones begin to curve beneath its weight and i have to give it back. Her skin is made of iron, and yet she wears it like a coat of feathers, delicately reflecting back at me. She gave me her name, when mine wore out, when it was said too many times in disappointment and anger and heartbreak. I take her words, warm honey words of sure truth and acceptance, i swallow them because I know she always speaks the truth. Sometimes i lose her, when i slip too far beneath the ocean of heartache, when i get too weak to hear or taste the dry beating of her heart. She is high above, on her t