I want to bare with the world
To bring together appearance and essence
Like two outlines of a poorly drawn hand
Coming closer together, until they dare to merge
Hoping for coherence, completeness
Eliminating all room for error and confusion
No heaviness on the eye
I yearn for an image of me that resembles what lies inside it
Semblance to the inside of my face, the inside of my hands
What lies in the middle of all the muscles that hold me together
Permitting me to stand
The inside of my back, the heart of my spine
The chaos of our imagination
When we wonder what goes on behind closed doors
I can make the outside of my face more coarse,
Praying for my eyes to look without flinching,
The carnage that is in front of them
I can make the other side of my skin soft and polished
No blood and no dried blood
Just a cushion for the outside harshness to not turn on itself
Compromising itself
I am laying on the marble floor
The world has seemed to stop
I look outside and the sky is gray, a suffocated shade
I think to myself, is this smoke?
Can smoke travel to where I am?
Their cruelty knows no bounds
Anything happens in times like these
Everything happens in times like these
Vivid, plausible, painful and submitting, the thought ends
It felt far-fetched and I felt ridiculous
A friend loses their shelter forever
The house he and his family shared their life in
A house becomes a shelter,
When what is beyond it no longer wishes to cradle it
When its walls want to flee
I shelter myself with the idea that danger and violence will not catch up to me
I am too far away
I will only see it without ever coming close
I wish for my eye bulbs to bleed
So that I never see a blue sky or a green field
I look outside again and I see the moon
The moon is irrelevant
How dare it flaunt its beauty?
How can I live in a world where a moon shines carelessly
while so close under it, brutality continues to unfold
The color of the sky turns into war-like gray
A sky I can look at, a sky I can believe
Anything can happen
There are weeks where decades happen
Purgatory is seen and sensed
Everything else rubs off of it
I look at my hands and I bring them closer together
I desire for them to not be told apart
I desire for them to disappear into each other
My hands, and what floats inside them
One day, we will not be able to tell cruelty and softness apart
One day we will stop wondering what it is that we are seeing.