u/Fit_Corner_9738

A dim hush

where light sways

Where flickers of sun

Scatter in the

Sunrise’s haze

A young woman is sat

on her worn tire swing,

The one that now—

fits snug around her hips.

Her tangled-brown hair

Catching the last light

From flickering street lamps

Beyond the trees.

Her feet resting the grass

As she reads,

Deep chocolate brown

Scanning the pages

With quiet intention.

She glides through pages

Where stories take her places,

Where she tries to study what to be.

She studies pages

Till the last streetlamp fades

Before tucking it nice

In her worn-leather satchel

With her mini gold key,

And her yellow beach towel.

She wanders downhill

Where pastel flowers dance,

where children

Squeal as they play,

running her fingers

along the small chains—

The ones where she would sit

and swing

Or play king and queen

Till her hands calloused

Or her parents called to eat.

She ran her hands along

the slide—

—her favorite.

As she felt like flying.

She thought.

Thought about what changed.

Why she did not walk this park,

Why she did not play anymore,

Why she did not catch frogs

Along the river.

Thought

why she had not climbed the old oak tree

The one—when she was little—

Where she would be perched

On its strongest branch.

—she kept that tree-branch climb a secret.

She knew it was wrong

She was told she could fall—

But she hid it

Because

In her mind,

then,

She felt free.

She was a

Young.

Curious,

Excited,

Dreaming.

She walked.

She walked

With her head high,

Even though

a tear slid down her cheek.

She walked.

Even though she started to realize

That she had lost parts of herself.

She kept going.

Even though she could now drive,

had all A’s in school,

She was a good friend—

kind,

Respectful,

Responsible,

Yet she let herself sink.

As she realized that things

are changing too fast.

She was a women

And she could not escape it.

Last time she spoke to her parents,

They cried together.

she forgot to say “I love you” back.

Now—a women—

she realizes

that as she’s grown,

They've grown.

They've hurt.

They’ve cried.

They've loved.

They've seen

The woman she became.

She

Never asked.

—Never questioned

—Who she wanted to become.

She walks.

Where white foam laces—

The sand like cloth,

Then recedes into blue.

She kneels

against the grains—

To grasp at

Shells and

Play with crabs

That scatter among

The towers of corroded rocks.

soon—

She is resting

On the pier.

Towel beneath her

Her legs swinging over the ledge.

she watches

Sailboats glide quietly

Under the new-day sun.

She watches the waves

That rush up the columns

and rumble back out,

While the pier creaks

Under the growing heat.

Her parents walked this bridge.

holding her hands,

Lifting her up in the air

As she would laugh.

She would always

Sprint up to the ice cream booth

And order her favorite.

“Strawberry with chocolate drizzle”

—her parents had never stopped laughing

While it dripped down her chin

Left a spot on her nose,

Got tangled in her

—carefully braided hair.

they would sit.

Right where she was now,

And somehow— just talk.

Talk about her friends,

Disgusting school lunches

That made her gag.

The boys in her class

That annoyed her.

This all came rushing back

As she sobbed

into her towel.

—her feet dangling over the pier.

With knowledge

the ice cream shop is gone,

That life had changed

And she was lost.

She sat and sobbed

While the wind bit at her nose.

While the water

Tickled her ankles,

Till all she could hear

Was the waves, her heartbeat,

And the small gasps

Escaping from her throat.

She stood up,

Wiping her face.

Picked up her

—tear soaked towel,

walked to the very

End of the pier.

She watched it

Stand over her.

The lighthouse.

She had been

Scared of going up there.

But she stood here now,

Satchel resting against her hip

Head high again.

—unlocking the door

With that little gold key,

That was given to her

And had been

a mystery.

She walked up

The skinny-scuffed stairs,

Walked up all hundred-

reaching the balcony.

Her hand grasping the rail

As she slid onto the wooden floor.

She watched.

Watched people exist in life.

Watched as neighborhood kids

Giggled—going down the slides

Watched.

As many

Swam,

Laughed,

Loved,

Lived.

she knew then—

That even though

She wasn’t the same

Little girl.

She could not climb that tree,

Or could not fit down the slide.

She was still herself.

But life had changed

—and she changed with it.

Standing there

She knew.

She wanted something

—Not smaller,

But bigger.

As the tire swing

No longer fit her like it did,

That book she had

Did not set her free,

The key she had

Was not the answer.

now—

Standing in this lighthouse

Overlooking the world wake.

She felt it.

Felt it stretch—

Then ignite.

As the light she had carried.

—the sparkle she once had

Was still there,

Still glowing.

—and now

Keeping it lit

Was all she wanted.

Just as it had

As a little girl.

Hollow

Vines gouging

Fractured ribs.

Hollow

Mud embedded in

the eye socket.

Retinas in its—

Locket.

Hollow

Moss adhered to

Decomposed flesh—

Stitched in

Gaping

muscle.

Hollow

Sap cauterizing

Blood-crusted veins.

Hollow

Saltwater

Submerged

To skull.

Hollow

Squirrels nest

in crevassed—

Teeth.

Hollow

Thorns encasing

Where eyelids once sealed.

Now pinned—

Vertically stuck.

Hollow

Roots ascending—

Lacerated spine.

Climbing—

Mangled through the jaw.

spiraling—

Mauled cavernous tissue.

Hollow

No spark.

No flame.

.Mal—function.

.Malfunc—tion.

No breath.

No name.

.Malfun—ction.

.Malfuncti—on.

No tissue—

Shattered bone.

Decay taking a life—

Alone?

Flesh dissolved,

Rot in skin

Skin to rot.

Life paid death

The toll.

No eyes to watch it go.

No breath to follow.

Thoughts already swallowed

Soul

captive by soil.

No sign—

al?

No s—

ignal!

NO SIG—

NAL!?

NO—

.HOLLOW.

Exhaustion is a Creeper

The Little Girl

HOLLOW