It was a Thursday night, and we were packing all the things that made up me. I was leaving. In the morning. My heart ached for the wide open road. The anger in the house was palpable, The taste sits in my mouth like toxic waste. I never imagined it would go like this, That the feeling of leaving would bring such peace. There was a countdown heading towards zero, A bomb just waiting to explode. I sat in anxiety, shoving things into bags, and suitcases, Hoping that the pain would eventually cease. I was angry, praying for a savior to take me new places. The starry night shattered into a million tiny fragments, Glittering like diamonds, As the world around me fell apart. We left the morning after. My heart was filled with rocks, Dragging me down, Down into the deep ocean. No light could penetrate, No lungs could breathe. Pressure slowly folded me in, I caved like a balloon out of air. My body ached, And I saw no source for my misfortune, Even though I was the one holding the bomb. I harbored the sick, Loving the unlovely, I was a safe haven for the survivors. My dead body was masked, Hidden behind a bright smile. Dirt caked my features to make me beautiful, Though the dead can know no hunger, Except for the stillness of its frozen heart. Yearning for it to beat With the intensity of battle drums. They stuffed me with straw, Gave me bright eyes full of wonder, And watched me fall into the chasm. We say “I am afraid,” While to translate it from Spanish means “I have fear.” Those words are beautiful, Covered in all the things that tell you who I am. I have fear, I am no more and no less, Yet I live on.
I have fear
