In Your Atmosphere

I hate you.

Yet you mean the world

                    to the world.

Your deft hands lure me

Into your shockwave,

Yet you make my head spin

And force me out.

I can’t tell

If you want me here

Or not.

You are my sixth sense

But when present

You cloak all others

In scratchy wool

And polyester.

But for you,

Silk gowns,

Diamond earrings,

And for me,

A bitter paradox.

You make me powerless,

Yet you make me fearless.

You make me weaker,

Yet you convince me I’m strong.

Luckily, I don’t need strength

To build your house of cards,

I only need strength

To write your eulogy.

Sometimes I try

To speak to you.

Sometimes I try

To make wet wood burn.

I breathe your air

And I speak your tongue,

Yet I know now

That you’ll always

Have your finger

On the trigger

Of your gun.

My sore muscles draw me

To your unmade bed

And while I lay there,

Paralyzed,

I dream that you’ll leave me alone.

Let me be.

Let me watch my breath

Fog up the window

And not have you wipe it away

Yet I know now

That you won’t be going anywhere.

And so I try

And try

To escape,

And so I melt

But you,

You are salt

And I am ice.

No one dare touch us,

        Or dare get close.

But still

Your shockwave stretches for miles,

And miles,

And miles.

And I

Am right at the epicenter.

But who am I

To dishonor such a global power

While living

In your atmosphere.