Killer is what I call you

Killer is what I call you because kill me is what you do.  And when I saw it on your page and your post, I didn’t bother.  I didn’t bother to think.  I didn’t bother to consider and I certainly didn’t bother to click on it, because why would I?  Why would I care?  I wouldn’t…but I would.  And I should have, but I didn’t.  I thought I knew you better than to write about me but you write about what you want and why would you in your youth want to write to me in my grey?

Half of what comes out of my mouth and most of what makes it to a page I forget.  Once it’s out of me it’s no longer in me, but you are.  While my pieces fester and ferment (they bubble up), you brew.  You I can’t shake.  You I can’t seem to get out of me.  You’re stuck right in me and that’s where I want you.  Maybe part of why I can’t get you out is because I don’t want you to go.  Because I like how you stick.  I like how you don’t leave.  While the pages of my life are filled with passages of people leaving, I see you in my tomorrow and that’s where I want you, in my future, in my unwritten history that hasn’t yet happened.

I want to witness your becoming.  I want to watch you become…the woman you were meant to be and I want it to be with me.  I want to swim in your icy cold stream as it meanders through dark mountains into shallow pools surrounded by the greens of your summer and the browns and yellows and oranges of your Autumn.  I want to see you through your seasons and watch you ripen on the vine.

I want to pluck you in your perfection and savor on your sweetness.  I want to get you inside of me.  I want to ingest, digest and excrete your nurturing nectar.  You make me grow.  I want to be your oak and your anchor and your shade.  I want to embrace you with my branches.  I want to wrap you in my leaves.  I want to sit silently while you go running and watch you as you return.  I want to be your rest when you are weary and your shelter when it storms.  I want you to weep in my willows and rain on my roots.

I don’t want to tax you and I don’t want to take.  I don’t want to possess you or own you or bind you in my chains.  I want to be your freedom to do and the star for your stare.  I want to provide for you.

I want to witness your miracle and sire your souls.  I want to rear them and raise them and leap that you allow me to loft in your legacy.  I want to dim and eventually die knowing I did because you killed me.  You came, you saw, you conquered me.

I call you Killer because you kill me. *

 

For more on Killer, see also:
Her being blue
Feeling fifteen
Maybe sex, not for sale
Naked and raw and over-exposed
Rising from the ashes

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