Those eyes have seen so much, given up and lived in doubt. They've been blind and clouded over, drunk and glazed; lovesick and angry.
I don't recognize them, they aren't me, not who I am. But they are, all that I've pushed down and wished I'd forgotten, the pools of a treasure gem hue that haunt me while I sleep.
These eyes aren't mine, they are the eyes of someone who has been hurt too badly to recover. These eyes aren't mine, they are the eyes of someone who watched their humanity die. Their sanity die, their decency.
Trust. Love. Heart. Soul. Everything. These eyes aren't mine, not the ones that have wanted things so badly...and never got them.
Those ears have heard so much, given up and lived in doubt. They've been deaf and covered over, drunk and useless; insulted and screamed in.
I don't recognize them, they aren't me, not who I am. But they are, all that I've pushed down and wished I'd forgotten, the labyrinth that haunts me while I sleep.
These ears aren't mine, they are the ears of someone who has lost too much, wanted and given up. These ears don't remember the sound of the ocean, not the caw of birds, of a child's laughter. Only your voice, the voice that personifies everything that has slipped through my fingers.
These hands are artful, strong, the hands of someone that has always held on to every last string of hope, of wanting, of everything that would chase away doubt. These hands are brutal, vicious, the hands of someone who has always had to fight, for what they believe in, for life, for freedom, for the sake of others. They've cleared the way to life for tiny feline infants, and held people in need of comfort.
This heart is heavy, full all the things that could kill a normal person, of all the abandonment, of being lost, of being disowned, forgotten, unwanted, hurt, stabbed and murdered, lied to and betrayed.
This back has bore many burdens. Boxes full of lifestyles and forgotten places and people, the sleeping child who is my world, the hurt for all that has happened to my family. My lies and mistakes, the things I've done to protect the ones I love. The resistance to how I feel.
These feet have suffered so much, carried all that is lost, dragged along all that has been beaten down again and again, over and over, until free will is gone, and all the spirit is broken and unmercifully tame.
This mouth has yet to say all that this mind means to tell...
