You are a cold winter night:
Dark and empty and vast and so quiet it reverberates through
The earth and the trees and the mountains,
Shattering bones and eardrums.
Hands burn and recoil from jagged edges that you cannot soothe,
For even the Sun shies away from your crackling gaze
And the sharp silhouette you throw against the cosmos.
Like a bird. Like retribution.
Like something powerful and terrifying trying to break free from a cage of
Light and mercy and love
That is too small and too
Much like a crescendo that never ends.
But deep below, a seed takes root, sinking tendrils of warmth like
A shade of green that God must have worked on for days
Into the frozen cavities between the ribs that are not yours.
You break yourself Into small pieces
For the first time without being commanded.
You sand down the edges
That have protected you for eons until you fit in doorways and
Hands without annihilation.
You fold your wings
So small they scream and fight you every second
Of every day.
You strip the power from your voice
Until every word tastes of subjugation
And the farce of freedom when
In reality you are trading in one God
And for a moment you have to remember how to breathe
When breath has never been necessary.
So this is what it’s like to