Poetry

i exist! i exist! i exist!
she shouts down the hallway
whitewashed without getting rid of the dirt
her arms swinging out until the others
turn their faces to ignore her
more surely than who is this person
but a distraction from the end of the hallways
she shouts until her esophagus lights on fire
to whom, we can never know 
only assume it is for someone important
-not too important or we would know-
head swinging towards the walls that
go up up up but then stop
only a few feet above her swinging head
the ceiling made of tiles
-whitewashed without getting rid of the dirt-
in the shape of the only future she can see
where the rain pat pat pats
rubbing dirt on the glass like children
who have too much fun never growing up
their fingers glide across the panes
made of glass that have been replaced
-two too many times-
until there is nothing to see at all
how many times she has broken that window
to lean her head out into the rain 
to feel the wet on her freckled neck
the sting in her eyes from -not her- tears
to shout the only words she ever learned
-if not taught herself-
i exist! i exist! i exist!
hooks reach underneath her armpits
in a way that it really shouldn’t work
-there is no such thing as physics here-
and drag her inside from the rain
doesn’t she know she might get sick?!
what would they do then, they could not go on
so she rubs in the rain she caught from the sky
reminding herself always that it exists
-that must mean she does too-
but the broken window must be fixed
so she rips off a piece of tape 
as long as the universe
and wraps up her window until
-between the dirt and the adhesive-
she can no longer see what exists outside 
but she can still hear it… pat pat pat
of the rain hitting the glass 
and seeping through the cracks 
it drips through and lands on her freckled neck
she looks up and feels in her eyes
the sting of something other than her tears
fingers with a purpose of their own
-or at least that is what she tells everyone-
pull the window back to its shredded existence 
until she can never put it back together again
but as she throws her body out the frame
it all shatters beneath her and she knows
that she does not exist as the rain does
perhaps she does not exist at all 
her feet never hit the thoughtless ground
instead she is trapped in endless hallways 
where she can swing and shout until 
her esophagus melts 
and the others turn away from her gaping mouth
i exist! i exist! i exist!
-but who is there to believe her? not i, not i-
so she is given a ball of thread made of metal
a combination of strength and durability
she strings each individual strand into 
the glass she has broken -oh- so many times
by drilling small holes into the side
of her brain until she almost doesn’t think 
peeling back the edges like cantaloupes 
placing the wire in the etched out bits
just to place herself inside 
-she’s almost invisible if you don’t look straight-
she places the glass within the frame
that she only breaks when she’s asleep
and stares through it to the rain pat pat patting
she rubs in the wet that no longer clings to her skin
because even if she threw her whole existence
at the window made of glass
the metal would keep her in until the ceiling
kept going up instead of stopping above her head
she stares straight ahead through the rain 
pat pat patting and feels it as if she feels herself
-but if she is not here then how does she say?-
i exist! i exist! i exist!  

Published on the Slippery Elm here.