by Cassie

I see you.

I see you, your face made up of all those straight up planes and angles, shadows like night bunched up under eyes clouded over with a refusal to recognize this as your life.

I see you, the way you carry sorrow like snowflakes in your hair, pocketed in your pores, slowly sinking into your bloodstream, poisoning all that is precious inside you.

I see how his lies sit down deep in your bones, the way they curl up in your marrow, the terrible way they slide under your skin, as slick as snakeskin under moving water.

I see how sick your spirit is, a strep throat of the soul, fever and fire balled up there like a fist, cracked knuckles crowding the soft places within you, choking on broken wishbones.

I see you, the creeping pettiness pulling you under, each day a hundred small ways of dying, a hundred small waves on the shore of sameness, a dishwater sky seen through drowning eyes.

I see you.

I see you, the tiny sparks that refuse to be smothered, the frayed ends that float back towards each other, a need to re-knit folded into their fiber, an infinity knot behind your breast.

I see you, starfish limbs so tired from swimming, a memory in your muscles like smoke trapped in a mirror, whispering in the soft seashell of your ear the sound of summer.

I see how hope makes a home in your fingers and toes, the way it spins a web and softens your walk, gossamer ghosts as heavy as your happiest memory.

I see how love lies at the bottom of your well, an empty bucket beside it with a broken rope inside, but in the dark as deep as an ocean, a shaft of sunlight falls on its upturned face, warm like honey.

I see you, your beauty stacked along your spine, spilling out an SOS, slamming into the holy space of your sacrum, pumping up into your heart, a hundred horses on an open plain.

I see you.