Park

My heart belongs to you,

My cries call out for you,

My hands search for you.

My god,

My mind is heavy,

My soul is weary,

My limbs are sore.

My god,

He needs you,

Hold him within your embrace,

And kiss his tired eyes.

My god,

The world begs you,

Shower upon us,

Your blessings.

My god,

I sit silently beside my mother in the waiting room. The metal chair bites into my skin albeit the thick fabric that separates them both. My nails pierce my skin leaving half crescent moons in my inner palm. I sit and wait. Seconds pass and she says nothing. We say nothing to each other, together. Minutes pass and we say nothing. The door to my therapist’s office laughs at me. I stare at it, daring it to open. It doesn’t. I know it won’t, it’s not my turn.

Then,

The hair at the nape of my neck straightens as heavy footsteps near us. I know it’s him. My mother and I meet his eyes with silence as he reaches us. We all sit in silence, no one attempts to fill the emptiness that lives inside us with words. I do not attempt to wonder what thoughts are flashing in front their weary eyes. My head is already heavy with worry. I worry about what will escape from my mouth, once my eyes give me away. I worry for my mother, the bruises are gone but her pain is still present in her vacant eyes. I even worry that they’ll ask me when last I cut myself. Do I tell them the truth? Or do I smile and feed them what they want to hear?