A Place in the Sun

7150640-sketch-two-girls-lie-sunbathe-on-a-beachI will squint in the bright sun as it damages my corneas and strains the bright blue seas, locked away for eternity in my undying blink.

I will develop lines in the shades of “Ass white” and “Forearm brown” in uneven blotches across my skin and you will tell me I am ugly but I know,
I am not.

I am just an artist’s pallet of gold, and cream. And I will kiss every damned freckle left on my shoulders, by the gaseous goddess of the sky.

My emotions will stretch and pull at my skin’ until it can no longer hold itself up under the gravity of the universe.

And society will punish me for every smile I endured when I grow older, because I will have lines from the corners of my mouth to my nose.

The sun strikes once again with the feet of crows as they claw at my eyes leaving scars of bad days and bright skies.

Sores stitched deep from when I was young; when a drop to my knees, everlastingly stung.

The scrapes on my thighs from when I was older, left by something with a less innocent closure.

When you see them you will not ask if I’m okay, and if you did I would not tell you any way. Because I WILL NOT speak a single word to the already damned.

When you, you were the boy who caused half of them to expand.

And when you are older, you will shrivel and die.
You’ll probably forget me, as you lay there and cry.

But the pain you left on the girl with the holes in her jeans,
and her dreams
and everything else you did to her
will remain.

But isn’t it a shame how the world is to blame?
And the girls of society broke your fragile frame.
I’m sorry boy, for the ones who called you fat.
I saw every single mark they clawed into your back;

And the images that are permanently written in ink, under OUR undying blink.
Boy, don’t you ever think?
I saw how you used me for closure.
And I saw how you were afraid of exposure.
And for sure; I saw that look of fear in your eyes when you taunted me with foul words and demise.

No boy… it wasn’t a surprise that you hated society.
But under your drunken sobriety of pain and anxiety.
I was just the cockroach you stepped on under the sole of your dirty converse shoes.
I was your escape, but in the end
didn’t we both lose?

 

Dear boy… come enjoy the warmth of the sun.

-Dream Weaver

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