How do we escape from where we are?

freeflow winter word jam

© me.

Where do you think you are? Did they lock you up in the madhouse? Crazy child. Can’t you be still when you’re comfortable? Must you look for another blade? Since this darkness fell between us, you tired out the soles of your feet. Perhaps we’ll bury ourselves under pagan altars. When the moment comes, but not before. Throw up. Over flow. You fail to know. You’d like me to confess the name my mother called me as a child. You’d know, and yet, not quite. You, cub of a peacock-child, do not remember that before you even were, I’d already lost myself in the desert. I used to be a prodigal wonder, they told me. A hermit inside my mother’s belly. At five, I shaved my head and joined the brotherhood. I wish I could tell you it was nothing but a childish whim, that Mummy loved me well, that I didn’t sacrifice it all for a terrible hunger. Yet we’ve known each other much too long and I haven’t lied to you yet. I look at you and would like sometimes to rebecome what you are now. To taste the sea on my tongue for the first time. To not have lost myself so completely to nobody’s desire. To be what God’s voice promised I might be, sometime. Shh, don’t laugh at an old man.

Do you remember how to look at me without looking for shelter?