The windows that I’ve sewn closed
are whispering again.
The blanket, pulling itself out from the draw
slips over my shoulders;
the dream of being caressed;
the apparition sings me defeat,
until melancholy is not only a comparable bruise from the past,
but a blinding burden in the present.
And that familiar desperation I feel
when I begin to listen to the whispers,
revives my daring resolve;
my irrational courage.
Euthanizing what is called “personal growth.”
Sever every smile.
Cut every protesting seedling.
Can’t you see I’m nearing the ceiling too quickly?
And I feel in my heart, that I am not meant to be this tall.
Here I am
thinking of ways to sever myself.
I wish that being locked in a dark garage could still be enough.
I learned very well
to be quiet
to stay still
to not cry.
Today, these skills are simple.
Today, I am likeable. I am loved.
And today, I wish darkness could be my only fear.
–Art by Kaia Pieters