Trying not to say it


Melody A. Mireles, Contributing Writer

 I push with all the might

 I need to move a mountain,

 My knuckles a desert with

 Crimson rivers,

 As a sentimental oasis

 Floods beneath my face,

 Threatening to spill out.

 I want to crumble down

 Only to cleanse myself of the dirt

 And rubble,

 Invisible to you,

 Pushed underneath my skin.

 Isn’t that the point?

 God forbid a speck of dirt

 Would sting your eyes,

 A smudge of mud staining your sleeve.

 I could hide away everything with a single sentence,

 Then a wide grin,

 So long as you blink,

 Then change the subject.

 Please, dear God,

 Change the subject.

 “What’s been on your mind?”

 The river becomes an ocean—

 The end of the world.