His Pygmy
His Pygmy
Its there.
Small, bare,
simple
to grab hold.
No one envies
what they can barely
see, and no one cares
enough to see
what they can barely
feel, themselves.
At 3am
it is there
beside me, staring
wide-eyed into the
night.
We stare at nothing
together.
I think about a rough hand
to hold; a speck of warmth
to console me; a strong
chest to lay my head upon;
but we remember
and we play dead,
instead.
The sound of night
is our dearest friend.
We listen closely
to nothing
together.
The scab on my forehead
finally erased.
The teeth marks on my breast
no longer indented in me.
The blue and purple masterpiece
on my back, finally faded.
The limp in my walk,
almost unnoticeable.
The words
that were never meant to break
me lie in pieces
next to my shards.
I consider picking them up
and starting over,
but we lay numb
Together.
Ruminating
on something that never was,
I place my hand heavy upon layers
of me, to feel it deep inside
my chest, waiting for it to come back
I don’t think it can
When remembers too much,
and tomorrow
will not be different
because this is the only way
We feel anything, anymore.
Better to have pain
Than nothing at all.
I turn over and stare
at the reason.
I hate
that we don’t know
what love is.
Copyright © Elizabeth Duran | Year Posted 2019
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