The Fight

I will come back for you, you said. Those words echoed in my head like a ringing in my ears after an explosion. Those words filled me until I realized they didn't mean anything. They were just air but lacked the same importance that air had. I held onto those words as if they were equivalent but once these eyes realized, I released them into the night sky. Oh, how beautiful did those lies look swirling amongst the stars. The door wasn't always open, and I couldn't chase after you. Instead, I stayed and endured the destruction that was within these four walls, grasping at what I saw others had, an aching yearning feeling in my chest that traveled to my throat. If I would have clawed it out of me would that have made me a savage? A savage looking for its creator. I can't help the thought that if I looked at you, I would look away because you look just like her. Every day I faced my mirror to see nothing had changed, I'm still bound to this identity that seemed attached to dysfunction. When the mirror grinned with a smile, I did not recognize I met its gaze with my fist. The reflection wasn't me but the savage they wanted me to be. I did not want to be bound to this brokenness even though it grasped for my embrace. As the sandman weaved dreams, I found me alone in the stillness of the dark, unafraid as I found nights gentle heartbeat soothing. In the arms of night, I found friends, one called night and the other called me. But I refuse to be their savage, I will not allow you to claim creatorship because I am not your finished product rather an art under construction, that is mine to claim. I suddenly came up for air, having been lost at tide for so long. The pain in my back was no longer the same, no longer from others or from a star's unfulfilled wish but from the wings that grew, taking me in flight. They carried me out of the garden that claimed to be my roots.