Spoiled BonesI'm on the edge of my mattress caught in the thick heat
I admire the dust floating slow
Through the only ray of light that broke through the blinds
I would like to be dust in the spring heat
With no conscience, no problems
But with that comes no life
Do I want to be dead?
The longer I sit the more the whirr of the fan sounds like my mama's voice
Same tone, same rhythm
She's almost there
Spinning sentences
Gracing the hazy atmosphere
The longer I listen to this hum that I know is not my mama's voice
The more my eyes well up
I turn the fan off and give in to the suffocating warmth
It's too much but I find my place in it
If I knew I were to die tomorrow
I would go on a walk, full watering can in hand
Pouring water onto every spot in the ground
Where the grass is yellowed and the earth is painfully dry
Watching it soak up what it has longed for
When my water runs out I would fill my watering can up and do it over and over...
No amount of water will keep me from withering so
I succumb to the letting go of my resources
I no longer have a rightful greed to what kept me alive
May I give myself back to the Earth that has made me
May I be forever unafraid to open the floodgates
May my currents wash through the thick heat
Over and over until I am no longer
written by Anna Gracheva | @boiledeggsonyourdoorstep
Gabe Hernandez | @gabeovr Fritz | @howfritz