Courtesy of Shayla Hickerson (2017)
Hit me with a hammer,
and I will crack.
Poke with me a sewing needle
and I will shatter.
I stood before you, naked.
My clothes found refuge at my feet.
And I wondered if I should be humiliated
With the odd angles at which my body curved
Inwards and out.
You found my shyness cute.
I am but a mist hanging behind the pull of your eyelids. A figment of your imagination melting in the eavesdrop after a chilling winter spent in yesterday’s embrace. The rotation of the record player started to match that of the rotation belonging to the roll of your eyes viewed in high definition from my front row seat, whilst the rate of my heart paused. The little dream you dreamt of me faded through translucent pixels as the melancholic melody was heard through a final, whispered vinyl revolution.