There’s not a simple way to explain the process of this sickness disguised trick or treat surprise guessing game. No easy way to help you understand. But I can tell you; these fancy shoes have never felt good. They feel permanent. They feel like forever swirling around in quicksand turning to concrete. Stuck on a path that never stops circling the replay of my own crash landing. I can’t slow it down, I can’t speed it up. I’m on autopilot. Choking up my daily to do list and watching as it goes up in flames, while it burns through me but I never flinch. I never flinch. It darkens me. Peels away at this skin I never learned to love, and layer by layer, a revelation of what lies beneath, and it’s ugly.
You wonder how many wars have been fought on the inside, how many feet are in my shoes and why are they standing so still. They stand still on the outside like silence always does but they scream inside like a wound that keeps bleeding. I turned my heart into a tourniquet, catapulted my voice into a weapon, glazed my eyes into a surrender… but still, my wounds are scraped open, gaping dreams spill out threats in the name of ruin, and ruin has too many names. I swallow them all. Each one swallows me. Carves me sharp with the dullest knife and slowly but suddenly I’ve never been this hollow. Emptiness feeds the cracks; I’m hungry, but too full of war to chew up the antidote of peace they try to feed me. It’s poison, like this prison of my bones, I’m cracking… There is no breaking out for me today or tomorrow. I am doing life. Against my will, my mind holds me here in this place of speeding freight trains and skies paralyzed with planes that never saw their crash landing nose dive fate. My mouth is filled with smoke signals that choked on all the parachutes I wasted trying to save myself, trying to fly out of this madness with sick wings, and feathers stuck in my concreted shoes. Move me. My eyes still follow words like the music my heart makes up and there are violins somewhere so in love with me. Just give me a song… there’s an angel inside that dances through this with me. Parachutes filled with feathers, fly me away to that place where the music never stops… I see my name in the clouds made from old piano keys and broken guitar strings. I want to cry in a place where tears are made from lyrics and roads are paved with music, because there’s a song swirling deep down in my shoes made of concrete, turned quicksand… evolving into a forever that dances just like freedom… save me.
© Stephanie Bennett-Henry 2016
Stephanie is a Southern Girl through and through. Sweet as candy, sharp as a blade, and talented beyond measure, Stephanie’s poetry is raw, unfiltered, and unforgettable. You can find her exquisite words at Stephanie Bennet-Henry , on Instagram and on her website.