Us skeletons
are made
of bones
and ash,
brought to life
and held together
by twisting,
tangled
ivy.
It wraps around our bodies
and keeps us
from falling apart;
blooming
from the flowers
within our souls.
We had once
been plastic,
and still pretend to be,
though
we no longer are.
We had lived
in a false world
of people
who are not
themselves,
perfectly,
impossibly,
deceitfully
happy.
And one day,
we died.
Shed our plastic
like a cruel second skin,
searching
for beauty
within,
but finding
only bones
and ash.
And now
we live,
still pretending,
still hiding
behind false truths
of skin and beauty,
not wanting to live,
yet too afraid to die,
the flowers in our chests
keeping us here
for as long
as we can endure.
We wake up
every morning
wishing
our tired eyes
had stayed closed;
had never opened
at all.
Wishing,
wanting,
waiting
for the day
when they don't.
But we miss
the beauty
of our souls
in our fear
of our own minds.
For if a skeleton
can endure long enough
its ivy,
the same ivy
that so entwines
twists,
tangles,
convolutes
its very being
will begin
to hold it up
and sustain the skeleton,
blooming
and bearing
beautiful blossoms.
And so
it is our job
to fight
and to endure,
in order that,
one day,
just maybe,
our ivy will bloom
too.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
שיריםA collection of some of the poems I've written. Some of the poems are in fact set in the same world, but not all of them have anything to do with each other. Read a few to find out if you like them, I promise they're pretty short. :)
