There was something about sunlight that made you want to smile and lift your face to its invisible rays, to bask in its warmth – it was inviting and calming, promising caramel skins and candy-sweet strawberries. Having met the sunny disposition, I wondered how the strings of lights would have looked complementing its sister moon…
These painted walls – a golden honeyed color – are cold and distant. These spacious floor plans – clean, cappuccino tiles set against lacquered bamboo – are empty and unforgiving. This house – built with happy, tired bodies – is lonely.
That is what my mom must see every time she walks the halls, putting one foot in front of the other like synchronized dead weights. She traces her fingertips along the walls and the hanging picture frames of lively, smiling people. Who are they? What are they doing falsifying their happiness yet still rubbing it in her face? Her lips break open into a sad, small smile – the smile that I have become so used to hating that I do not bother to care anymore. I remember when I wanted to smack it off her face as if doing so could suddenly bring life back into her empty body.
She sobs uncontrollably now; sometimes she keeps it bottled inside so we cannot see it, but by now I know better. She shuffles around in unkempt clothes – everything she wears now seems to become decrepit, wilting from the depression that exudes from her very core. Clean, crisp laundered clothes are saved only for lying to the workplace, to the public. No one must know he left. At home – at prison – she can be as depressing as she wants. She stares off into the distance with a blank expression on her face, wondering what she did to deserve this pain and torture. Had he not loved her as much as she did?
Why why why why whywhywhywhy
I hear that word more times than I would like. I want to scream at her to stop. Please Mama, spare me. I feel the pain in this house too. I feel the despair and anguish you fail to hide behind that sickly smile. I know you want to disappear and vanish into the air and leave behind this agony. Please Mama, don’t hurt yourself.
Please Mama, don’t leave me.
I wrote this free-verse poem back at the beginning of February of this year. I started to remember what was going through my mind when my ex told me he was going to break up with me and I loved the idea of writing about the tears…
The day you stopped smiling at me was just as delicious as the day when you first did. I remember when your sweet lips - now sickly to taste and uninviting to touch - had sent shivers down my spine; how they had broken out into a genuine smile, warm and pure, but now just as so gave me chills - those bleak, impersonal smiles that used to affect me now held differently in my heart. I remember how your bright blue eyes would gleam and become wet with emotion; how I used to comfort you, console you with all that I had to make the horrible things go away. But when you cried now! I'm sorry, please forgive me, it's for the best, it was inevitable. So delicious and beautiful were you that I almost didn't listen to your pleas - I almost felt as if my heart would explode and shatter into tiny, shimmering pieces. Those tears mesmerized me more so than they did depress me, running down your face, your cheek bones, each drop seamlessly following the next and the next in a silent, knowing succession. The ones that clung to your thick lashes sparkled and danced, like tiny diamonds, pure yet cold, yearning to be free from their captors - that I wondered how they must taste coming from someone like you.