Something In The Air

Is- Is there something in the air?

Why does every breath burn my lungs?

Doctor do you have a diagnosis or am I just broken?

All I can hear is the music of the cursed tongue of my demons

I must be broken right?

But, once I was a child,

Once I lived every day in joy,

I was easily fascinated by a toy,

Now the wheels are broken on the car that is my motivation.

I am stuck here.

I am stuck with the memories of better times,

Times that I thought every second was magic,

When I thought every separation of individuals was tragic,

I was never lacking confidence,

And it’s no coincidence that that same girl ten years later cries at the reflection she sees in the mirror.

I was in fourth grade when I was called “Ugly”

Now, I was labeled by another individual

But with some time that became the reason I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat,

The reason that a sixth grader-an eleven year old girl sat by herself at lunch and had to throw away her food so that her mother wouldn’t realize she hasn’t been eating because she is blindly searching for beauty.

I did like art though,

Actually, I still do,

That’s one of the few interests that aren’t a chore for me.

I paint my face with makeup, knowing you’ll wash most of it off with my tears but you need to be ...beautiful,

I love abstract art, I practiced it at a high risk,

You see the curve of death was only a teardrop away,

I could see the way the sky bent on the horizon through the mist,

I always loved approaching art with a twist,

For My brush was a blade and the canvas was my wrist.

Once I was courageous,

The ghost  of that still hints at my recklessness,

The carelessness that danced through my throat and down my veins with elegance,

But then I met someone and - well he relieved this headache that is my heart,

And for a while,

Just a mere second,

I felt like it was no coincidence,

But only common sense that you were heaven sent

But slowly we struggle to pay the rent,

He lost his job,

She lost her lover,

He lost his love,

An impressive feat, for she never could let go,

But-but he just  w e n t ,

He left,

Gone with the wind,

He drinks his own sin,

But now concave and hazed we must persist to resist the urge to-- to go,

Right?

But I want to let go.