witch trial, a poem
Oct. 10th, 2024 03:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omaewokorosuYou wish more than ever you could go back in time
for the briefest of moments,
time key in hand with chain around your neck
to tell 18 year old you
you will get away from her and never look back.
your life will begin again at 32.
you can finally start to heal.
For the first time in 22 years you're
not suicidal and you're
not patting your back pocket
to make sure that the plan you wrote out
when you were 10 and 1/2
maybe 11
is still tucked away in there.
You don't have to look at death
as a way to escape anymore.
You found the light 🕯 at the end of the tunnel,
and it wasn't an oncoming train with
no whistle to blow to let you know it was coming
but trees and mountains and air
you could breathe without any worry.
For the first time you could see colour.
Not just colour but how vibrant leaves on trees could be.
The reds and oranges and golds
the colours you find inside a flame once lit
as they swirl all around when they fall,
dancing as you join in, the wind carrying you both along.
your life is allowed to begin the trees whisper,
as nature tries its best to heal you, return to Mother Earth
so the river can lick at and heal your wounds, these
ever-violent gashes on your heart that you insist will never heal.
they will heal, with time, with effort and with work.
You want to ask Mother Earth why you should hunger
for someone you've never once had.
She cradles you close in her arms and whispers,
Every child deserves to have the very thing you seek.
Sometimes you have to find it in people you would least expect.
Moms you've learned don't have to give birth to you in order to love you,
they will take you as their own without any problem and love you.
Mother, such a cold word for something supposedly so warm,
ends up leaving every single room with a chill in the air
for her barely beating heart is completely frozen.
It's okay to knock the statue of ice over,
watch the ice shatter into shards that quickly turn to water.
Puddles on the ground that will eventually dry like the
tears that leave salty trails down your cheeks.
For once you don't have to contemplate drowning and
for once you don't have to contemplate death or dying or
how delicate life and living can be and how easily it can be taken.
A snap of the fingers and she lost you but
with another snap of the fingers someone else gained you.
family doesn't have to share blood to be family.
family doesn't have to share blood in order to love you.
family loves and respects you just as you are,
flaws and scars and pockmarks.
You've lost nothing, darling... You've gained and regained everything.
She is the one who's lost everything...and will never regain it again.
There's bits of ash floating through the air
smell of smoke and something burning in the air.
Is it a wildfire in a distant land?
On the other side of the country? No,
it's the smell of the bridges she burned.
She holds up the matches and cries out about
how it's you who committed this arson
even though she reeks of gasoline and
reeks of accelerant.
No one believes her, little girl who always cries wolf.
You watch the flames get closer and closer to her and know--
There is one witch that deserves to be burned.
You turn away as the flames begin to consume her.
for the briefest of moments,
time key in hand with chain around your neck
to tell 18 year old you
you will get away from her and never look back.
your life will begin again at 32.
you can finally start to heal.
For the first time in 22 years you're
not suicidal and you're
not patting your back pocket
to make sure that the plan you wrote out
when you were 10 and 1/2
maybe 11
is still tucked away in there.
You don't have to look at death
as a way to escape anymore.
You found the light 🕯 at the end of the tunnel,
and it wasn't an oncoming train with
no whistle to blow to let you know it was coming
but trees and mountains and air
you could breathe without any worry.
For the first time you could see colour.
Not just colour but how vibrant leaves on trees could be.
The reds and oranges and golds
the colours you find inside a flame once lit
as they swirl all around when they fall,
dancing as you join in, the wind carrying you both along.
your life is allowed to begin the trees whisper,
as nature tries its best to heal you, return to Mother Earth
so the river can lick at and heal your wounds, these
ever-violent gashes on your heart that you insist will never heal.
they will heal, with time, with effort and with work.
You want to ask Mother Earth why you should hunger
for someone you've never once had.
She cradles you close in her arms and whispers,
Every child deserves to have the very thing you seek.
Sometimes you have to find it in people you would least expect.
Moms you've learned don't have to give birth to you in order to love you,
they will take you as their own without any problem and love you.
Mother, such a cold word for something supposedly so warm,
ends up leaving every single room with a chill in the air
for her barely beating heart is completely frozen.
It's okay to knock the statue of ice over,
watch the ice shatter into shards that quickly turn to water.
Puddles on the ground that will eventually dry like the
tears that leave salty trails down your cheeks.
For once you don't have to contemplate drowning and
for once you don't have to contemplate death or dying or
how delicate life and living can be and how easily it can be taken.
A snap of the fingers and she lost you but
with another snap of the fingers someone else gained you.
family doesn't have to share blood to be family.
family doesn't have to share blood in order to love you.
family loves and respects you just as you are,
flaws and scars and pockmarks.
You've lost nothing, darling... You've gained and regained everything.
She is the one who's lost everything...and will never regain it again.
There's bits of ash floating through the air
smell of smoke and something burning in the air.
Is it a wildfire in a distant land?
On the other side of the country? No,
it's the smell of the bridges she burned.
She holds up the matches and cries out about
how it's you who committed this arson
even though she reeks of gasoline and
reeks of accelerant.
No one believes her, little girl who always cries wolf.
You watch the flames get closer and closer to her and know--
There is one witch that deserves to be burned.
You turn away as the flames begin to consume her.
