whispering

Sticks and stones may break your bones
But one word – orange – it bruises.

When I look at the path we have walked,
It is littered with hurtful words that lie
Smouldering with the anger that fumed
Passionately from our fiery mouths.
I don’t want to look there anymore.
How can I stop my ears from hearing the
Words that constrict my heart and bring
Me, choking, back into the fire
That threatens to consume me?

Why do you visit me so?
And, how is it you keep finding me,
When I am so careful to mask my footsteps
And to make myself invisible to prying eyes?
You shimmer and whisper dulcet harmonies
Until the horrible advancing fear that hounds me to
This place, vanishes as a puff of smoke chased by the wind.

I have asked you again and again to leave me
And, yet you do not.
You stand in silent solace, still singing
And whispering the way you do
So that I can’t quite hear you
But can never forget your presence.

You? You master the fire; tethering and playing; drawing
Brilliant images; laughing at the acrid smell of burnt
Flesh and hair; enjoying the danger and the thrill.
Is that why you have withstood the fire of my heart?

I want to understand you. The whole you.
I understand you well enough to know how to bruise you.
I want you to understand me. The whole me.
But I don’t want to be your bruise.

Where do we go from here?
You and me. He and she. She and I. You and Him.
When life hands you lemons; make orange juice.
It’s sweeter.