Westwind

Days Leading Up to Xmas

Danielle Dickerson

Charlie brown on the t.v,

Cozied in grandmother’s blanket.

She told me

everything would be alright;

the skin would repair itself.

 

Those yellow eyes would clear again,

My appetite would remain unstable.

Who knew her coifed hair

spoke of experience,

like she knew what heartbreak

felt like.

 

Blood everywhere,

On my fingertips,

And on the edge of my legs.

I have no one

to confess to,

seems like,

there’s no reason

to exist in 2014;

how alone i go,

yet there is

something,

something that keeps me excited.

 

Like the blue moon

every so often,

that other side looks tempting.

I stand where i’m not needed,

nor wanted;

I am a ghost,

see­-through,

apparent to the eye,

but transparent to the heart.

 

All i can think of,

is how warm grandmother’s

words were,

when she told me to stop crying;

 

I came to her;

with open arms

and cushiony bed,

my problems derived

from a place of anger,

and resentment.

 

Her bed was a safe haven,

with all the blood and sweat,

i felt no coldness,

no isolation,

The t.v was more mad than ever,

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