God, if I could
tear open my skin,
see myself from the inside out,
then perhaps this would all be serene.
There are things of which
I've been so long bereft;
my lips have often tasted
sweet, warm honey and
gleaming fruits which held
glistening promises, never kept.
Someday I will run away
and let the wind tousle my hair.
Maybe my tears will melt me
or crystallize, and
turn to tiny snow petals.
I can think back
to my days of carefree
and see that my blood
is still as red.
The days when I could look in the mirror
and see a girl who was worthwhile.
If the distance from
one day to the next
should happen to bring it back,
maybe I'll know my sedated dreams;
and then perhaps this would all be serene.

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