Sixteen years to the time you were born, I could still remember your eyes,
The first look on your face, crying for days, ceiling lights sealing them shut
As you were first brought out into the world, stretched out in the arms of the
White clothed aliens like in the Lion King we always watched together
In the living rooms of our apartment building. A mansion for us toddlers,
Below the tables we would crawl, playing tag between the legs
Of our sleeping cribs and not-so-quiet parents alike. I heard you screaming
And yelling, our grandpa swearing that you never, damnit, slept at night. My first time
Going through stage fright came with you by my side, and I burst my bubble
With the same needles I had once caught you with, stitched among your hands.
I dreaded the worst, I could not feel the frost that was pulling apart the skin from
My bones because my heart was racing on how to help that little girl
Who laughed at anything remotely related to fish-faces and blue braces.
I had always thought about confessing to you about my first experience,
and how much I hope it would mean when it happens to you. Sixteen years, and already
you can do it, you know…But those legs we once
Ran through are now rooted to the floor with massive stone walls slammed
Shut between them, and the struggle to climb them with my bare hands
Seems like too much to bare, when it is much easier to dare, dream that it
will all be over, soon. At least that is what our mom says.
Whenever you close your door on me because I ask you how your life’s been,
I can’t seem, to deem, that I’ve lost you so.
Even if you don’t want to give me a hand, like a star in a faraway land,
Gift me the air I need to dive deep and breathe, into those skies, those endless
Fears your life’s hiding behind, I want to find
My little buddy back.