annaocxo

Ireland

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
― Anton Chekhov

Growing

October 20, 2019

FREE WRITING

1
I feel time shifting. 
The hands of clocks
push against my back, 
the sharp point piercing 
my skin, the feeling 
getting stronger as if 
it wants to say to me
'You are alive.' 
  
Tick-tock.
 The noise 
calls out, flooding my
brain, filling every crevice 
of my skull until 
there is no empty space. 
Tick-tock. Time is passing.
Tick-tock. It screams.

(I imagine a seaside.
The waves crashing against
the floor, filling up holes
in sand. Golden grains
caving in, giving way to the 
greater force. Pebbles are
swept up in a
cold embrace.
Crashing.
Waves.
Sea foam.
The stars are overhead.
The moon is out.
A stillness.
A silence.
The crashing of waves. 

Tick-tock. 
The sun is up.
The beach is full.
The waves have no more peace.
Tick-tock.)
    
My bones are pulled 
in different directions,
cracking and twisting into 
gnarled positions. I stretch 
upwards, a sunflower against 
the wind. My body is filled with 
breath. Fresh air. Coldness. 
No, freshness. Tick-tock. 
My hair grows longer, 
a cape shimmering in 
the sun. Flowers rest 
in a crown-like position. 
Reminding me of 
worth 
and place 
and some romantic type of thought. 

Tick-tock.
I am growing. 

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