Things I would like to tell you

i admit, i was hurried
tumbled into,
and now, i am terrified of
the eyes that look into mine. eyes that were mine
o mine.

grandma's favorite rocking chair
light cherrywood, stiff bindings. i was five then,
we were once all so small. but i was elsewhere,
a different country, and my uncles they said that
i could not possibly finish the beer in the flask.
i admit, i wanted to prove them wrong.

when the world tells you things you are not,
all the more frustrating when you become
so close, to these things.

i became drunk, drunk on the pride of having
drunk, their o so intimate jeers, i was so hurried,
and i was so small lying in grandma's rocking chair,
while the world rocked away. the grape vine outside never looked
more beautiful, or the cherry blossoms, like the ducks, were all
talking, about the beer, about me; so gullible, so weak.
One says, like in a lulluby, "i am not. i am not."

taking a chance never felt so close to this, being,
this now. i felt there was structure, that if i fell off that
chair, it would hurt. i never knew
there would only be falling.

©hRj2007