Too Close

Gasp. To the edge of the bed.
Cool Water. Where are my glasses?
The cat scratches at the door.
It lays at the foot of my bed:
My doubt.

Put my fears to rest, I
cannot bear.
Inundate me with pretty lies.
Carry me upstairs and
flick off the light.
Don't carry me upstairs.

Pretty children grow with
watermelon on their tongues
and sunshine in their bones,
while beautiful children start
compiling ashes under their skin.

Who was I to judge a life not
yet lived? Too close.
Too close.
Where is my watermelon?

Mama says "Shh, sweet child".
I cannot hear her.
The ashes under my skin insulate me
from the sound.
Where is my sunshine?

Too close.

Venussubmission, poetry