Scared
SCARED
… when I jumpstarted my thirst for sin
danced young
whistled with the wind
sold short my youth
burnt like the witches of salem
scared
… when I was the one with crooked smile
he chose to stomp through
as if I was a ghost town
with flowers and chains
with good will and free will
… when the wind sounded like winter
he exuded calm
my hands were callous
and he cut my breath
I still have cuts everywhere
scared
… when my psychotherapist
wants to change me because
I put my ear to the ground
to hear the earth’s heart beat
… when I am tired
of jeans that don’t fit well
of people shivering
of paid and unpaid bills
tired of being a survivor
… when the road lies in front of me
and I go on an adventure
by crossing it
I become commercial
with only one dimension
… when the trees become
prime material for caskets
I feel their hardness
on my back and sides
the dry wood cracks
waiting for my body’s moisture
… when I become a comic book
next to my wilted lips balloons
filled up with words
as if they are rivers or veins
and a bored reader
decides if my life is rust or blood
Copyright © Adriana Thompson | Year Posted 2016
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