Broken Things
written by: Alexa Cleasby
@Lexicon_Fuse
I like them broken and strange.
I like them knotted and tarnished.
I pick up a new one between thumb and forefinger.
Rounded through time and smooth to the touch.
But it doesn’t feel quite right. It doesn’t leave a mark on my skin. Put it back with the others and it’s instantly lost in the swell.
And I forgot to put on my seatbelt that day.
I am trouble with stray ideas.
I am a crowd with distractions.
I am a chorus of arguing voices.
Small things are swept aside like dust out the door.
And whole stretches of road passed by without memory.
I think the same thoughts, day after day.
I chase them down holes and herd them in gnarled twisting circles. But I never quite catch up and I never quite soften.
And I drove too fast on those lonely old roads. And I thought I was invincible in my red metal cage.
I am a fox and the hounds are behind me.
I am me and then not me, slipping in the in-between, and out the other side.
I can see the person I want to be
I’ll run faster, write clearer, talk smoother. I’ll learn how to fly.
And I did fly that day. Like a ballerina I flew through blood splattered glass.
The window exploded in sharp confetti sparks. A thousand tiny rainbows danced across the tarmac.
And there were flashes of lights.
And there were crying sirens.
And there were stretched out voices like hands through the dark.
I am sheared snapped plastic with metal crunching teeth. I wanted your edges and I wanted you to bite. But when I left, you crumbled.
And slowly I become like them. Just another broken thing. But if someone remembers me, I don’t care if the rest forget.
Squeezing my first love into every corner of life.
- Waiting Room - July 23, 2021
- Fushimi Ward - June 20, 2019
- This Moment - January 23, 2019
