Sunday

Dear day of the sun please listen to the silent apologies that cross the threshold out of my larynx into the wind. Please stay with me as I gather up my windpipe to utter the words in chronological-I mean alphabetical, I mean, shit. What do I mean? I mean do we ever really mean what we say? And for that matter why are we so mean when we do mean it? I was weaning my tears when my fingers stopped, freezing as though winter entered in the middle of July. It’s June and too soon grades will be due and I will be too because I understand this is the last time I will need to say anything about my grades.

So much tragedy and on such a sugary goodness day. Forgive me for I am cynical of the well being and the well wishes that wash the dirt down the well until we forgive and forget, but please never forget. My tongue is swollen and my spit dried up and the words refuse to exit out the way they came. My tears, however, have never let up. Bursting the dams on treasures buried so long ago. I remember why I refuse to come out and play. I remember why I hide while everyone else slays in their lives. I forgot to live mine a long time ago and it is only now that I am getting my words back.

Why do some of us hate so much? Why were we forced out of the womb that once promised to love us no matter what into the world that promises to hate us no matter what. I have seen so much happiness exuding from the inner lips of my comrades and the irony is that they are the ones who have been screaming. The ones who are silent now, picking up their soldiers, laying out their own funeral clothes are the same ones who have had to shine every rainbow after a rainstorm just for you to remember that they never were swept away by the flood. Storms are beautiful, but with the right force they can become a force to be reckoned with.

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