give me a voice

i cut my teeth on worry over the years, nursing what if after maybe til future was a four-letter word; to this day it remains a howling vantablack in the farthest closet of my mind. all i want is certainty: a house whose roof does not shake in slight breezes so i fear the wind, fastening my lids tight instead of opening wide to see all its colors-- walls made of something strong enough to hold off the hurricane of doubt, the supercells of mistrust. all i want is a foundation that does not crack at new questions. all i want is bread in my mouth without the foreknowledge, the conviction that it will turn to dust before i can swallow, and choke me at last.

one wonders why it is considered ideal to have hair the color of bee spit; is it the bee’s knees because bees have no knees, and cannot kneel? i couldn’t tell you but walking around with wool on your head instead colored like the earth streaked with silver in memory of past droughts is an experience. i look in the mirror too much without seeing. the vodka’s empty and my hands itch and burn, the air smells of the bleach from cleaning the fridge and all i know today is i am burnt sienna or toffee or caramel wood. i am wood, and wood holds more together than bee spit, and bees cannot build homes made of wood, which means despite the bleach and the roaches and the bedbugs, despite the empty rooms i am just as okay as honey and my life can still change.

written by epiphani s, read by rubyshroom.

so without further ado: give me a voice: poems written by me and read by people who aren’t me.