4/3/12

Your Rebellion
By Raelyn Layne


i'm your mothers ragged old dish towel; moldy and water-logged
i'm hollowed bones from your father's most fond hunt; trophied
i'm your sisters greatest keeper, a walking apology when i'm near your nana-
i'm drizzled rain on your eyelids when the droughts parched your lips
i'm the sweet nectar of a honey suckle; spring is not more than a week old
your tongue is wild, vicious and needy
i'd die everyday to be apart of your rebellion
i'm the vines that overtook your elementary school
i'm the cracks you skipped; you never broke your mothers back
i'm the teeth you grind at night, the headache you awake with
i'm the map you tried to follow but the wind blew away
your hangnail, it's me
the paper cut your taxes gave you, me
instant coffee, yeah you better believe it's me
i don't want love- i want a ragged dishtowel in our kitchen, like the one your mother keeps. i want hollow bones and vines that overtake us, i want sweet nectar to bathe in and your tongue to blame me. i want a few years to try and not make sense of anything
i want to skinny dip in broad day light
jump off a hundred rocks into the sea
i want to taste your skin, keep your eyelashes in my locket tight
i want to know i was made to count the freckles on your arms and legs
i don't want love.
i'm the follicles of your hair
the blood that rises you to anger
i'm an insecure love handle
the rapture that will leave you awe-full
the untamed rebellion you thought you left behind, me.


- - -
I'm unforgivable in my journey- spending too much time reading, napping with my hairless cats and roller blading without knee pads. I could spend eternity kissing broken hearts and the cheeks of divorced children. My mother named me after the sun though I find more wonder in the moon.