Fists
in 5th grade health class, they told me that
the human heart is roughly the size of a fist
I don't remember what the teacher said next
because I was too busy
curling my fingers into my palm
surely, whatever I was feeling
had to have been made by something larger
than my frail hands,
something more powerful
than my ten year old fist
I closed my eyes
and punched the desk as hard as I could
the skin on my knuckles tore open
blood surfacing, shooting pain up my arm,
and I walked with teary eyes
to the principal's office
when he asked why I did it,
I could only say I was testing my heart
these days, I still ball my hand
into a fist and just
stare at it a bit
I do this every day
and sometimes I'll punch something
like my desk, or a wall
or the drawer that holds all the notes I wrote
but never showed you
my fist has gotten a little larger since then
but it still breaks and bleeds all the same
Walls
People say time flies
but at night it seems to crawl
like its wings are made of sunlight
and once the sky grows dark,
it can't continue on.
So, it falls to the groud
and underneath the stars,
it drags itself around
which gives me plenty of oppurtunity
to feel alone
and wonder where you are.
My walls just listen to me
counting down the hours
waiting for sleep that will never come
because I don't consider it sleep
when visions of you are all I see.
The back of my eyelids
merely a projector screen
of how I wish you and I could be.
And, as the sun's rays flood the earth
and time's wings regain their strength,
my walls stand steady
and listen to me beg for the moon