Little Dreamer's Eyes
Darlin' dreamin in the night, shadows on the windows
5.10.2005
Let Go
Let go of me.
As hard as I try I cannot pry you from me. Your grip is so tight. So intentional. So invasive. Yet what you grip me with is not your hand at all.
It is your silence.
Your silence won't let me free myself of the confusion. It screams loud at me with a gesture that you need to be heard. Silently. Making no sense of it for me. Giving no answers. All the while you are so silent that I feel like you can hear me. I know that you can't. I know that you won't.
But you won't let go.
The only way you can flee and release me from this frustration is to speak. To give me words. To understand and allow me the same. I have questions which, once answered, will carry me away from this with them. They are the key to unlock this cuff on my wrist that I desperately want to remove.
Open your hand.
Not only to free me of your quiet, but to expose the lines in your palm which make you human. Lines which trail on your skin as your veins carry life through you. Or do you not have compassion? Will you deny me peace in an effort to have the last word?
You have.
Your silence perpetuates everything around it.
It is unnecessary. Unhealthy. Unwanted.
It is unkind.
As hard as I try I cannot pry you from me. Your grip is so tight. So intentional. So invasive. Yet what you grip me with is not your hand at all.
It is your silence.
Your silence won't let me free myself of the confusion. It screams loud at me with a gesture that you need to be heard. Silently. Making no sense of it for me. Giving no answers. All the while you are so silent that I feel like you can hear me. I know that you can't. I know that you won't.
But you won't let go.
The only way you can flee and release me from this frustration is to speak. To give me words. To understand and allow me the same. I have questions which, once answered, will carry me away from this with them. They are the key to unlock this cuff on my wrist that I desperately want to remove.
Open your hand.
Not only to free me of your quiet, but to expose the lines in your palm which make you human. Lines which trail on your skin as your veins carry life through you. Or do you not have compassion? Will you deny me peace in an effort to have the last word?
You have.
Your silence perpetuates everything around it.
It is unnecessary. Unhealthy. Unwanted.
It is unkind.