worn

february 28, 2008

 
The second year is different here.
The city still glares through your window,
beeping and groaning out its anger,
shouting at itself in its schizophrenia.
You must hide under blankets to sleep,
wrapping yourself in the fuzzy green of an ex-stepmother's ex-love.
The city still wears at you,
wearing your body out, wearing your defenses thin,
wearing down the stiffness, the black encrusted shell
you built so painstakingly of illusions and fear.
But when you are raw and exposed to the polluted air,
your expectations fail.
Through the shell — not blood, not anger —
joy shines through
and you lie surprised with rapture
in the midnight like dawn.