Poem by Thal Mohammed
Many months have passed
with no tears shed.
Those were the longest months.
With dry eyes, you weaved a quilt
out of mediocrity.
You were voracious and tenacious
in concealing the broken bits.
But, silly-fool, the darkest parts are
gold once lit?
What now?
How can one shed all seven layers of dead skin?
Every wince. Every ache. Let your limbs speak. Unfold.
Break the spell!
It is easy to arrive.
It is hard to arrive.
Hold the tension.