Silence
The words hurt.
I can feel them.
Although they are not directed at me, my skin still itches from the sting.
They surround him.
They know they are stronger.
Faster.
Bigger.
They yell and laugh and mock him.
They say things one dares not repeat unless it is in the whispered gossip during passing time or the edge-of-your-seat table chats during lunch.
Rumors.
Lies.
Punches.
Who cares what the difference is? They throw them all with abandon.
People slowly gather around, leaning against lockers and watching from afar.
They do not even have the decency to at least pretend to not be looking on with interest.
But who am I to talk? I am standing here with my white fists clinging to my biology book and watching just like the rest of them, aren't I?
The kid seems to have given up, realizing long ago that peers and teachers alike risk little in the social ladder.
He wonders how he let himself get dragged down to the bottom rung in the first place.
The bullies are relentless, dishing out what no one has dared to serve back to them.
They say something about his clothes.
His home.
His family.
We all know it is not true.
I want to say something.
Anything.
The words are right there, stuck to my tongue.
But so is my doubt.
My fear.
So I remain silent, just like everyone else.
My shame screams in my ears like my footsteps as I walk away.
Breathtaking
You take my breath away,
Like those before have said.
I'd never understood the phrase,
Until you got into my head.
Your words were always so breathtaking,
And they almost made me drunk.
But now they make me fight for air,
Like a final knockout punch.
I always thought words hurt,
But my lungs would disagree.
It's not pain I feel, but helpless,
Like I'm drowning in the sea.
We yell and fight and scream,
Slamming doors as we leave.
"This is it. We are done."
Maybe now I'll finally breathe.
But then you'll come back the next day,
And I'll know you've already won.
Once those blue eyes hit me,
We both know I'm already gone.
Your words are like wine,
Each promise a broken vow.
I'm an addict for your craft.
Only anesthesia can help me now.
I still tell myself you love me,
Every lie built on a truth.
But deep down I know for certain,
It was you who stole my youth.
But that's not all that you took,
With every single wicked play.
As I lay gasping my last breath,
On the cold tile floor today,
I know it now for certain,
It was you who took my breath away.
Like Fire
A galaxy spreads above our heads,
In the dark the lights are sewn.
The grass is cool beneath my fingertips.
My skin is hot beneath your own.
It is almost naive, the touch we share.
No rush, no time missed.
It is just you and me and the heavens,
We are all that exist.
The stars fall and my heart soars,
The moonlight makes the tide of love turn.
Your eyes are alight and your touch is like fire,
And I'm left in the dark with your midnight sunburn.
The Face of God
My heart almost stops as I take in the utter disaster before me.
Twisted metal. Flashing lights. Desperation.
Flames leap out of the wreckage.
A scream breaks through the noise.
A woman pulled out of the crash--
No, a mother.
She doesn't try to escape the flames;
She tries to dive back in.
She's crying, yelling one word over and over again,
Repeating a name like an anthem, a prayer.
A police officer is holding her back, looking like his job is to hold the weight of the world.
Firefighters work to put out he flames, eventually lifting the car enough to look inside.
The commotion increases.
The firefighter reaches into the burned and warped metal.
The mother cries out.
A young child--a girl. No more than 4 years old.
Yellow rain-jacket and pink boots.
Teddy bear in hand.
Not a single scratch. Not a single burn.
Only blue eyes wide and calm as she reaches out for her mother.
The crowd gathered can only gasp in shock, then stand silently or cry with joy.
The mother can't even speak, only hold her daughter like she'll never let go.
Standing on that sidewalk in the face of a disaster, I saw God.
Take
Noise.
Screams. Shattering glass. A fist being thrown into a wall.
Two opposing parents.
A child sitting silently in their room, trying to drown out the sound of the battle raging on in the kitchen.
A standstill--both sides quiet as they stare one another down, planning their next move.
Both want to triumph, but neither willing to release the kill-shot.
They both know there is no real victory. . .
Another trivial bullet will start the fire-storm tomorrow.
They just watch for a moment, assessing one another, neither fully aware of the third party.
The father wondering why it is so important to be right.
The mother wondering how long it has been since she felt something.
The child wondering when it became so inessential to love.
All three despise the situation, but none are willing to give ground.
Knowing there is not enough happiness in the broken house for all of them, they resolve to steal one another's.
And all they can do is take, and take, and take. . .