Prose

Tight Jeans and Loose Smiles

I can't help but count down from three because my life is hanging from a string tied to the curves and cuts of the lettering and it's slipping through the creases in my hands and slicing the skin beneath my fingernails and I'm grabbing at empty air and screaming with a dry throat and I'm staring at the cold, hard ground beneath me and darling it's a long fall and I intend to drag you down with me.

Three, two, one.

And my legs are shaking and my knees are bruised and I'm shrugging off the stares on my back and ignoring the mocking giggles and I'm falling over my feet and struggling in my stretched sneakers and fiddling with the buttons on my jacket that have seen more threads in their lifetime than I ever will and I'm choking on words in a language I don't understand and I see you somewhere in the shadows and sometimes in the light.

Two, one.

And not everything is about cracking bones and twisted veins but it's about aching muscles and dented shoulders and tucking myself into a corner and tucking my knees to my chest and forcing my tears not to fall because I have failed myself and I can hear the harsh whispers and the subconscious chiding and my fingers are hovering over computer keys and quadratic equations dance on college ruled paper and I'm praying for him to say my name and holding a smile in the palms of my hands and cradling the lies I will tell and I will not believe another boy's words until you tell me something I can trust.

One.

September 23, 2014 5:43pm