Sainte Jude

Because I have let go at long last. It disgusts me to hold on to that which I am no longer. I thank it for getting me to this point and cut ties, releasing the weight from my shoulders. I move forward, I move on. 

now it’s obvious.

He tasted heaven, got to hold it in an embrace for a few fleeting moments.

He held on to me like a little boy would a kite in a hurricane.

I am embody heaven, flowing through my life like a stream to an ocean. Always forward, always fast and absolutely never looking back.

That had forgotten it’s Queen.

Years ago they had eaten their mother when the hunger began, at the behest of their giant of a father who himself picked off his less desirable children.

I awoke and though the giant slept, now for many years, the people lived in fear.

The sound of bones in his teeth lived on in the pulse of drum beats.

I awoke early. Earlier than he’d thought.

I stayed in the shadows and pretended I too was fearful. I could taste my presence in his nightmares.

In the shadows they did not see my eyes glow.

I’ve become impatient, waited 18 long years. But whatever it is that made me had a plan.

So I’m creeping now, tiptoeing on glass that surrounds a tyrant.

Glass as a defense only works if you’re afraid of pain.

The only way to free the people is to get rid of the illusion of their prison.

That is what makes me relish the feeling of my feet opening up, makes me lean into the pain.

I am not asleep, I am not afraid.

I hold my breath as I place the pillow over his face.

When I leave his cave, the people will stand in bewilderment, unsure what to do with freedom.

I do not care. I draw a breath in, one that a tyrant shall never again take, and descend down the hill.

They will whisper of the girl, not a mother, a girl, not a queen, who awoke.

They will whisper and then they will sing, for they are free

Motherless, fatherless children who for once might taste the power of creation that was hidden from them.

Perhaps it is their mother within them, who knew that in death she could do what she couldn’t in life and be the love her husband had stolen from life.

My nose started to bleed. And I tasted like the diner’s fries.

I tried to twist and half convinced myself that I did.

My hair falls in my eyes and my tears are the rain.

I am ancient and cannot remember my beginning.

I remember nothing.

It spans beyond the something.

A gnawing buzz that chews my earlobe.

I sing to drown it out, I write to draw it out.

I feel bigger than my body, like each breath pulls parts of me in and the rest pools in the sky above.

But to create an oasis in my skin, deep within my body. That I string along each molecule with precision and a serious vision. That I create what I feel and not what I see. That I look beyond the concept of you and me and simply be.

Is the point of life to breed? To bleed? Or is there more than animal nature and jaded thrusts?