This has some truth...mixed in with some fiction. I hope you enjoy my moment of osmosis.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"It's time for atonement," said the voice.
"What if I change my mind?" she asked. "You don't have a choice," said the voice.
"What if they find me here?" she asked. "They won't, you'll be in passage," said the voice.
*****************************
Carefully; she submerges herself chest high, in a porcelain wall of complacency. The hand of hesitation, reaching out to support her spine during a brief moment of doubt. Taking in a deep breath, she could feel the weight of the world; pushing her....forcing her down. Drowning beneath a raining cloud of purified osmosis.
Watching; each pocket of air slowly escaping her lungs, exiting her lips. It was easy for her to imagine each bubble to be a reflection of subconsciousness. A dreamy void blurred by a waterfall of naive perception. Direct and steady, like a floating compass, moving her thoughts towards the blue curtain.
Eyes blinking. She observes the first bubble as it breaks open at the surface. The air around it, producing a faint whimper accompanied by many visions. She could see her Father coming home. He had strong calloused hands. Beer on his breath. A thick mustache. Black grease with oil stains on his pants. He looked like Bruce Willis. And he laughed like Barney Rubble. She loved him, as much as she despised him.
Then there was the smell of cinnamon. Her Mother always made the best Snicker-doodles. She liked helping her mother sprinkle the sugar on top. Mouth watering, she could almost taste the first bite of a warm cookie.
Thirsty...the sweet stuff always makes you thirsty. She draws in another quick breath; topping the cookies off with warm milk, filling her lungs with condemnation. The flashbacks begin to contort and ripple, she hears her Father's voice, molesting the inside of her ears again.
"Stupid girl."
Oh yes, and she remembered her classmate Mark. They were just 17, and he only wanted to be friends. Maybe if only her ears were smaller. The freckles on her face...looked like fire ants that wanted to race. Maybe he preferred brown-eyed girls. All she wanted to do was touch his smile.
Then there was a lovely vision of Tracey. Her Mother and Father said she was just an imaginary friend. But she was as real as any other friend. And then one day, Tracey went away. That same year, the tooth fairy stopped paying. The wishing star never looked so far. The big dipper and little dipper looked like tiny droplets of rain that fell on an Easter Sunday. This precipitation paving the way to deliver her soul.
She could see and feel the hardwood floor beneath her. Pajamas on, sitting alone in her bedroom, biting her fingernails. At times, all the chewing would even bloody up her cuticles. "Disgusting habit, " she could hear one of her Teacher's say.
But it produced endorphins for her, it helped numb down her anxiety. She often bit on the inside of her cheeks too. Scratched at her scabs and sores until they bled. But blood never bothered her, just certain sounds. Like the door slamming shut. Heavy footsteps on the floor. The thunder in the night. Her mother crying.
Her mother's tears pooling around her face as she watches; the second bubble. It was quite small. Filled with grief from being average. Every time she spoke, she felt like an invisible whisper. This bubble made no noise upon reaching the surface. It instead just produced an echo of silence.
Suddenly, a flash of light, she could see her purple shoes...her favorite pair of shoes. It matched nicely with her purple hand bag. The purple bag swells into a balloon, producing the last bubble. The biggest bubble. It floated upwards slowly, as if it were reluctant to let go. The burst of air replacing the silence with many voices......
"S**t."
"Worthless."
"Sweetie I love you."
"B***h."
"Lazy."
"Ugly."
" I love you."
" I love you."
" I love you."
An echo upon echo of words. She didn't get to say sorry to her Mother for spilling the juice on the floor. And it was the day after; her Mother passed away so very suddenly. The cause of death. Brain aneurysm, she heard the doctors telling her Father.
. oh ... there are a million thoughts racing in my mind right now ... there are so many thought-triggers in the narrative ... i thought the title would be very challenging to justify ... but you've done great justice to it ... this slow unraveling of the narrator's mind is compelling ... i am reminded of my own journey and of the time when i needed to atone ... and then ... once i started ... i realized ... that in some ways ... life is a journey into the perfecting the process of atonement ... almost like an art form ... the way we perceive ourselves has a lot to do with the way we perceive our mistakes ... and the plight of those we might have wronged ... albeit not in a major way ... this piece of writing is like an intense experience of putting oneself under the microscope ... piecing together one's key influences in life through the subtle analysis of key events and characters ... and then letting go ... yes, the final note of this symphony is undoubtedly liberation ... excellent work ...
I could see her sliding down into the blue..bubbles bursting, one at a time...the poem has almost a hypnotic quality... the music coming up slowly...so slowly...
This is so much.. real, yet dreamy. Raw and yet soft.. I feel like I just journeyed back into places I tucked away nicely.. The ones you want to forget. The bloodied nails to help you feel and forget.. The words being spewed at your face that land in your soul.. All of it takes my breath away. The cleansing...hmm now it makes me wonder...are we the Brita Filter for those around us because it was our destiny to help heal...or were we just fucked with? As I read along.. a saying that I use in my work kept flowing through my mind.. "As above....so Below"... the balance of ...and then of what? hmm sista:) Excellent as always... and that Tracey chick... was never imaginary:) xo
This poem was incredible and I'm overpraising here. The opening was very ominous and the story in the middle was unexpected and original. The poem was beautifully written and your writing reminded me of Sylvia Plath. This again was an incredible piece. I also like the religious allegory! Great Job! Osmosis was one of the best poems I've read on this site.
Osomosis would seem a fitting title to this work, dissolution, moving from a place of high concentration to low concentration via a semi-permeable membrane...and so the change progresses, moments dissolving then dispersing as the soul cries out.
Beyond that the form is a mystery, a conundrum in waves of imagination.
you write with such passion, yet at the same time so elegantly. On top of that, the way you use words is just indescribable. I find myself often forgetting certain words, especially at times when I want to express myself most, and then I read your writing and everything just flows so perfectly. you honestly inspire me
Wow! I see so many things here but I think what sticks out the most is the loss of innocence. There in that one moment we finally see the truth. The truth of how things really are. I think that third eye opens us up to see the realities of life. You say this so well. The loss of dreaming on a star, the loss of the tooth fairy, invisible friends leaving you behind. The emergence from childhood into maturity. I think that the beauty of your writing is that no matter where you are in life or what your age you can always find something to relate to.
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