"Parochial"
12:06 AMYou are nocuous.
You don’t even need a mouth for it.
People still echo you,
still build altars to the way you stand still,
and call it virtue.
You are parochial.
You fenced the air,
named it safety,
and taught me to mistake obedience for peace.
You played my body like string.
Each tremor, a hymn,
to the god you pretended to be.
How many tears make a believer?
My body learned resilience
out of fear of your patience.
My heart learned how to vanish
without dying.
The good memories mutated first.
They smile with broken teeth now.
Every night they hum your name
until the walls remember it too.
I don’t.
I just keep not sleeping.
When you burned me,
I stayed still.
It felt polite.
Now the body’s clean again.
No scars anyone asks about.
You could use me. Sweep me.
Call it closure.
But the heart,
that’s the part still smoking quietly,
trying to belong to anyone,
like it knows the fire
was never a metaphor.
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