"You Know It's Not Real, Right?"A Poem by Bee C.My mind was a temple encased in glass, with a sign. “Don’t tap the glass.” Visitors, patrons, vandals, thieves would come, thump their fists on it and leave. Glass broke. Sometimes fingerprints, other times not. Other times, gentle touches. Barely cracks; spider-web ribbons, and perhaps the kinder of the regulars would pause to smooth over the jagged pieces. Often glue, tape, cement. Band-Aids for a paper cut, or a fractured limb. And the spiders would skitter, dance along my edge until they found a straw to drop upon the damaged camel. Then build again. Over time I have become weak, 2-D, cartoon physics. They touch it with their feather fingers and the whole d-d-dam barrier b-breaks. And yet they in the museum books have the gall to comment, “not real”. Not solid. No, student. You have yet to learn that the blood from your wrist runs like the wind in a hero’s Lycra cape and just as red. You can shoot a demon in the head before it gets inside yours. Allow me my games of war, for they are the battles I have control over. They are not beautiful. It is not romanti-tragic. Defence is not magic, but self-protection is the epitome of biology. Do not tell me the laws don’t apply and my rules are wrong alone. There are other worlds that you will not believe in: don’t exist if you don’t see it. Right. Now tap my not-there glass and tell me that fish can breathe in air if I only try hard enough. © 2015 Bee C.Author's Note
Reviews
|
StatsAuthorBee C.West Midlands, United KingdomAboutI am an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in denim and ink-stained cotton. Language and literature has always been fascinating to me, as well as mythology of all kinds. Those somewhat dark topics and.. more..Writing
|