Don’t upset the child that waits within. She clusters close to the pane that offers hope, but is often obscure, like the breath of a ghost. Her cries are without symphony, they’re mangled and maimed like a deer in the woods with a beat that suffers slower and slower. I write rhythms not rhymes she cries, oh she whines. She is not silent and yet she is, she is a contradiction with no reason to her actions, she just is. She is constant, but ever changing; did I say she was simple?
The girl is the wing man to your night, the stock character hidden from the plot line. She is secondary; she is emotion, so volatile she must be upbraided, snuffed out as a candle dripping on flesh for the sake of a cheap thrill.
I’m scared to let out the child. She is the inner me, the necessary component lighting my nerves so i’m no longer just a robot programmed to act without feeling. And it’s truly terrifying. I want to bare my feelings like my body, to have it caressed and comforted the way it is stimulated. But i must be blank, empty as an ink cartridge, careful not to print the wrong thing; it’s not what you ordered. If i open up like these parting legs would you enter into this cavern with me? Could you find me along the folds of our sheets to hold my hand close? Because sometimes a smile is not enough to hold it in. And when we embraced my body was open but so was the window to the girl climbing out. Her foot is hooked on a hold i cannot shake and here i’m left ready to show you what i am, beneath this barrier of flesh, just a child needing help and assurance.
But with a cry you turn from my face- this is not what you expected.
Please don’t leave, i didn’t mean to go too deep. Just forget it all, let’s go back to just you and me, the lock and the key, this function so simple how could we be anything but free? Lets be slaves to our bodies, crushing together in a cycle of lust. We can lie like we’re one and pretend it’s fun! Oh the fun. All the fun.
So much fun.