It’s 5:25am, the morning after Christmas;
Strayerstown is still drowned in effortless sleep.
There is pitch blackness and utter silence,
Even the crickets seem to have gone to rest.
My heart is racing, so I toss and turn, partly because my mild asthma, as the doctor called it, doesn’t seem so mild this winter, partly because you are on my mind. I clutch my blanket and take deep breaths through my mouth, it’s the best I can do for now. I have no inhaler handy and my “brokeness” this December knows no bounds. One deep breath, two deep breaths, in, out… that’s better. I fluff my pillow and shut my eyes, maybe the sleep will come this time.
It doesn’t, because my nose is now congested and my heart still won’t stop racing. I’m feeling feelings, thinking thoughts, remembering memories; my heart is racing not in a bad way, not necessarily in a good way either. This one’s is different; the type you get when you long for something, but not such that it leads you on a desperate wild goose chase. It’s more content, accepting and understanding. My heart is racing because it longs for what it can’t have.
I fling the covers off me in exasperation and pull out my laptop determined to write. It’s 5:58am but that doesn’t matter. Writing always solves the problem, eliminates the thought, lightens the burden so, it’s not just me bearing the weight, it’s my laptop and I. My hands rest lightly on the cursor for a while, from afar, I can hear the chime of the grandfather clock downstairs. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Like a mother it gently chides me; tick, tock, say what you have to say, tick, tock, time waits for no man but even I have no idea what I have to say.
In the past, there would have been a long list. Let’s talk about attention, or the lack of it thereof. How about affection? Concentration? Suppositions? For the first time, however, I have no complaints, no more headaches and worries, no expectations. It’s okay now, better, but the thump of my heart blatantly calls me a liar. Say it, say it, my heart screams at me, I try but on the surface, there’s nothing to be said, so, I bravely pull out a hoe and begin to deep; gently I scrape past the surface of my heart, I’m searching and searching but finding nothing, so reluctantly, I move more vigorously towards it core, shoveling, searching. Dang I knew I was falling but how deep did I fall? How easily did I lose those oh precious moments of couldn’t-caring-less?
Say it! My heart repeats loudly. “Say what?” I respond. I’ve found what I was searching for but at what cost. This is an attempt at liberation, stability, not a pity party cry for help, or some shameless attempt at attracting attention. This is supposed to be about reflection and self-appreciation, a reminder that as a lioness, I remain queen of the jungle and so my mane should remain rightfully proud. It’s the only way my head says to me. I scoff; well, glad to see you’ve joined Ms. Heart in this conversation.
I want this but I don’t want this, I want the chicken…without the barbecue sauce. The barbecue sauce tampers with the actual taste of the chicken and leaves a sour residue in my mouth. I know I have only two choices; either accept the barbecue sauce or just forget about the chicken but it’s a tough decision to make. Letting go feels nice, for once I don’t have to bother about a disturbing aftertaste but deep down, it haunts me how much I really want the chicken. Surprisingly, it doesn’t seem to matter that sausages are forever in my dm’s. I even somehow forgot that turkey still existed. So say it, my heart repeats.
I want the chicken! I want the chicken! I want the chicken……..I want you. But you can’t have the chicken my head chuckles, so let it go.
Writing always makes things easier, it lightens the burden, and it helps me feel better. That’s basically what I’m doing now, writing my emotions away. With the hope that when the morning comes, I’d have a brand new slate to start with.
Its 6:49 am, my heart has stopped racing and I’m breathing better now, I’m gonna go to bed.
Did I throw you off when I started talking about Chicken lol?
Do you think this is about food or an actual person?
Drop comments below, I absolutely love reading and responding to them.
10 Comments Add yours
I have to admit, it a nice piece by you and you got me, it really messed with my head.
But I think it about an individual not the food and I see it as a confession.
Hmmn 😀 I like your line of thought
I’m not an aficionado of poetry or literal work but I must confess your piece has got me totally engrossed and amazed…
Aww thank you soo much, I hope you get to visit the blog more frequently
LILIAN OGBUEFI THE GREAT.
I HAIL O. you never cease to do a great job.
Funny and charming. I was hoping it was about the chicken tho 😡
Id see this piece more as a reflection. Nothing to confess.
Lmfaoooo!!! Eyitayo you too like chicken!
Lmao!!…hams are forever in ur dm’s….guilty as charged!!!
That’s a wonderful piece of art. I love it and it remains of mills and boom….. I think it was about a feeling. It is more like a confession. Bravo….
Aww thanks so much love
I really like the beginning. it is so beautiful and then the part about the chicken is kind of funny but I think its about both individual and food. I like the way you talked about not being a ble to make a decision and u re so right writing makes things easier