aiko_outofsight (aiko_outofsight) wrote in theneutralclub,

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Declarations of the Wooden Mouth

Took the heat today. 
Let the embarrassment come up to play about my light brown sugar cheeks,  defensive in my speech, hair in front of my trembling face, tears about to roll.  Fine, let it come, leth te emotion finally show. I thought with a defiance I didn't feel, didn't grasp too firmly with my scrabbling mind, which tried so pathetically to grab these loose-end thoughts, like a puppeteer who can't control his own features let alone that of his puppets. So different from the couple minutes, when I bowed my head in poetry to the heavens above, waiting for roses from the blue radiant sky.  Singing softly snatches of songs I had memorized beside my rumpled bed, I stepped out of the dark classroom, leaving still the rushed harried twitches of my polished fingernails, shined to a blood red.  Why is it named blood red? It's not even the color of blood..more like the color we associate sacrifice with, the kind of love, people have forgotten these days. blood red. it's heart's love red.  Sweaty hand-prints left on steel lockers, painted royal purple, leave me feeling identity-theft, everything I am, will be, was, is in that one singular fading hand-print, like a breath on a frozen window, so quick to spew hotness, but just as quickly gone, leaving no trace of remembrance to those around it. Something of no importance. I shook my head, clicking my tongue, underneath the sleek wisps of midnight falling over my face, in a black sea, rippling past my ears in the low wind, in the grey shadows, made on the un-cracked concrete, my self-portrait on the pavement. 

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