Hannah Su Hepler
The ground littered with words
I’ll never say. The pulse tickling my throat
tells me speak but I don’t.
That red string tied around my ankle
its grasp tight, almost suffocating.
A constant reminder of being
incomplete. I take silver scissors
and scrap the thread. Its teeth unable to bite
through. My soft palms get cut
by the constant pulling.
You stand before me,
my dread in flesh.
Red wrapped around your ankle.
A pulse thrashes inside
my heart. My eyesight blurs
and beads of salt water fall
off my face. Your hand reaches
toward me. I danced
to avoidance’s accord. The salt water dripped
onto my pink lips but I wanted to taste you.
I am heavily armed
with small thorns.
Thoughts of you creep
into my mind. Leave me
alone. I reach out to touch your skin
but let my hand wither.
Honey glazed breath warming my neck.
I wish I’d let the vulnerability take over
but shrinking is my only defense.
Touch me not.