A Thank You Note to the Monster in my Closet

Let me tell You a secret:

I do not know what I'm doing

I move like fog

and I aim to be a rumor,

I want their eyes to dart towards me,

see me

-without the skeleton, amnesia and gunpowder-

and be infatuated

Let me define myself if only through a cryptogram:

I want to disappear before I can disappoint you with the etched graffiti on my hipbones

I want them to see a great blue bird in the mist,

free-spirited like a breeze,

and fall in love with her before she leaves

But I am a northern fox

with hazel eyes and blackberries on my mind

And fur far too dark to be arctic

but eyes far too wary to be anything but

*****

she hunts alone,

on mountain tops with the taste of a cigarette on our tongues 

and here is where she kills,

(or is it where I run away)

She dances around the timber in her constant analysis 

(I've been trying so hard to avoid the city lights, 

which burn grotesque figures from my nightmares onto my iris' every time I witness them,

that I'm not even sure what she's looking for anymore)

She's fighting to gain some insight into what occurred

(while I can only struggle against the monster with no eyes and so many teeth)

She tells me there is a race in my mind and I must always win

(if he catches me again I won't be strong enough to fight back)

so I will soar to catch the songbird 

and I will sprint until her freedom is mine 

Then the whispers can only gawk

They will want to qualify me, I'm sure

But there is no understanding how the fog and the moon

will take this cunning fox and turn it into a royal thrush

The only thing I can say for certain is the wartorn bone will still be there,

just more obscure

Because I only care what they think of my flesh

Underneath, the breathless girl 

with crushed lungs, a bittersweet butterscotch voice,

and a body too large and too small

and everything at once 

is not for them

(or for You)

she is cherished 

and the only ones allowed to witness her

are the animals that are thrown out by the group of Trolls 

that live under the water,

as she has been through the same treatment

*****

These Trolls will stop all travelers

because no one can leave their kin,

and if you do

You are the big bad wolf

and it doesn't matter what's growling for you in the woods,

because you mustn't leave something 

that wants so badly

to devour you

But no matter, Trolls won't stop me any longer,

I will run and hide from all those things I do not trust

and I have no apologies,

I will bare my body to whoever I want 

without remorse

and will not be told that it is wicked,

because I am an art museum 

with a great big sign that says "no touching"

*****

Long ago a big bad lion

with ash speckled on his face

like snowflakes

pawed at the artwork without asking

and now it's torn

You can't even see it unless you get close

but the cracks grow every day

and although I seal them shut with gold

my paint is chipping

I try to hide it in the things you won't notice:

A glimpse into untamed hearts,

letters to the moon and her army of stars,

smoke slipping from my lips into the streaks sunlight

and the thrill of a chase. 

But really, 

all I want you to see 

is the heart so big 

it bursts inside this tiny bird body

but instead 

I have an empty ribcage with a soul broken into bits and stored 

I keep my only part in the pocket 

always on me like that last bit of carmel 

its there 

but never where you'd think to look

The other parts have been gifted 

to the few deer I know will swallow it 

and keep it close to their lungs

*****

No one can ever get a complete piece

because if they stay too long

they'll see the hollowness that lives in my skin;

the ash falling from my eyelashes like tears

and the purple colored caves dug out under my coffee-colored lids

then again, the trickster is much better at hiding the cracks

but even if I could run home with my paws dirty from the pursuit,

if I could try to rinse them off 

and fit into the cage built of my obligations,

she does not like to be stuck in a home like a jail cell,

even now, I can barely stand it some days

The animal will listen to few

(and I am usually not one of them),

her feral instincts do not like being confined

in floral bedsheets like the noose on my death sentence

****

So here's my confession:

The museum won't let you touch art because 

as soon as you lay your polluted hands on it

it's less than before

Sometimes the thought of clean air frightens me

because without contamination

I do not know how my lungs should work,

How does my heart skip a beat 

when there is no fear of You,

how do I find a vision beautiful

when there is no chiaroscuro of panic to darken it 

*****

So darling,

all I can say is

I may love you

and promise you forever

but no matter how strong and warm the sun in my heart grows

every star has to die

and maybe this love will die with me,

but please remember dear:

I may not be a bird 

but God can I run from You like I'm soaring in the clouds,

and terror was only a tether to keep me on the ground