She is alive

Location

11725
United States
40° 50' 8.7648" N, 73° 16' 56.7588" W

She is alive

The titans murmur tender words

Telling us lies, making us feel better, STRONGER.

A rock slide is tumbling down

but we are held in place by THEIR hands

being closed into a room of rocks.

Soon the weight weighs on our minds.

The walls seem to move closer, closing us in.

Trying to grasp onto the last ray of light

and shining energy.

A single pebble falls into place and

hides us away.

As the dust settles so does the dread.

Little by little we die.

Living in our own graves.

Slowly the pieces of us are chained away in the

obscure corners of our minds.

She squeezes her way in.

A feather. Ordinary and substantial.

She floats down carrying with her the cool breeze and the memory of warm hot chocolate.

Her aroma lingers in the tomb.

She spreads her fingers around us like sand,

Caressing us with her familiar touch.

Sparks ignite in the centre of our souls.

We feel the hot chocolate slipping down our throats and warming us from the inside out.

She drags us out of our cage and wills us to fight.

Standing, shouting, and pulling at rocks.

We pile them higher and higher

piling the doubt, the judgement and the lies underneath us

until we stand tall at the roof of

our stony prison.

Pulling out the last pebble,

a shout of energy is released.

The dust is blown away to reveal the vibrant colours of the world.

Only then can we climb out of the

pit THEY created.

Water and misty breezes, laughter in waves and sunny days

trickle back into our body.

She is lifted up to us.

The one thing keeping us going.

Provoked, we grab her and are left

with only a pen.

Dipping it in the darkness that once trapped us.

We trace away the pain and broken promises.

The ink runs out and we are left with

empty lines.

The pebble sits in the corner of our minds.

Picking it up we start to fill the void.

Art can never be killed.

She will eternally give light to those

left alone in the dark.

She will always be the fireworks splattering graciously the colours of your soul

on the blackness called

oppression.

                                     -K.S

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