Yet, I Kneel. I Tie.
He sometimes hits me and the hits hurt. The hits hurt for hours after they’ve been given to me. Days. Weeks. Years. A phenomenon. The pain a punched hole on the ticket my ticket I hold in my fist and, for some reason, cannot let go of. Why can’t I just open my fingers and let it fall? Then I remember how paralysis works in the fearful. I remember a little girl who couldn’t move once, too. It’s all reconciled within seconds and in that moment I hate myself the most.
Using only the eyes in my mind, I trace the shapes the impacts leave behind. They are ovals and circles and unidentified shapes that make no sense because they have yet to be named; but I see them. There and real. I am black against their glitter. It’s funny how I see them as sparkling. They throb muted between hallway walls. They are on purpose after accidents. They are one way. They are silent getters of attention. They are just look forward. They are where do I go from here. They are take deep breaths the kids are in the car.
I’ve been at the summit of Victoria Peak, the colored blaze of Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour a blessing beneath me. I have walked the streets of Seoul, winding unafraid. I’ve looked down at Central Park from boardrooms.
You are only a boy with his shoes untied.
xTx is a writer living in Southern California. You can find her writing in places like PANK, SmokeLong Quarterly, Dogzplot, elimae, Thieves Jargon, and Kill Author. She has a free e-book entitled Nobody Trusts a Black Magician available at nonpress (http://notapunkrockpress.com/titles.html). She says nothing at notimetosayit.com.
© 2010 prickofthespindle.com