Tracy Abel

Color With Clutter

By TW Abel

My thighs are bruised black from waiting here too long.
The pain penetrating my heart
Comes from your over-bearing cells
Attacking and eating my insides.
My brittle bones stem from youth misuse. I'll show you-

Father,
You wrestle within me still.
Two-of-a-kind, we've become. Our egos feed off of each other
And attack like two Betta Splendens, living in the same shallow bowl;
Fighting till the death, for all to see.
Your coldness has left me frozen. Bitter.
Two-of-a-kind we've become, like two icicles; sharp-edged,
And melting of sadness; Frozen together,
But dripping apart
Into dirty puddles, waiting to be evaporated and reused, again.

Now, when I close my eyes,
My brain correlates color
With clutter.
Like a kaleidoscope filled with shapes, brights, and dimensions-
It's dizzying. But it's better than the dullness of the day before me.
So, I close my eyes again and fall right-side up.
Throughout summer, winter infests me still.
Still, I am cold and dreary. Longing
For sunlight to wash over me, to awake my soul;
To shake, shift, and shovel the snow
That has buried me.

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Poem Edited: Wednesday, April 25, 2012

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