high strung cross

here is my truth, this is how I feel, so much, so strong the back of my head pounds:

a parade of black but meant to be a party. does no one see the irony in that?

faces meant to be familiar but bodies tense, arms crossed, words too hard to find.

eyes heavy with tears but no words spoken. We are a clan who does not discuss what our hearts feel, not so openly, not the way this heart feels.

I knelt on the wooden floor, in the shadow filled sanctuary and I tried to pray. My ring covered fingers flipped the thick pages of the book meant to have the answers but I didn’t find any. I never do so I got up and I looked back and I whispered: how can I believe in you if you did this to me?

the pain was all so clear but so was the love and yet my body began to shake in the way it does when it wants to run.

I can not fix this puzzle, which was broken before, because now a piece is missing forever. It will wait on the floor.

As I will wait. This was only the beginning and that’s what scares me most of all.


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