Yearning (2011)

What is this void within me? This newfound bitterness that dissolves into every word I utter? A poison vapor in my lungs carried to my heart through the blood in my veins. My friend says she can see my insides getting darker. All of this started with wanting. It was my insatiable wanting. I told myself I didn’t need, but my stomach wants, wants, wants. My mother could never bake enough bread to fill up my soul. I have been sitting with my wanting, but I don’t understand when it went from purple to black. Like the bruises on my legs, it started out a tender purple. It hurt when I brushed my thumb over it, a deep pain. These days, like an old bruise, there is only an angry stinging.

When I close my eyes and look inside, I can’t open them again. I am stuck, comforted by the blackness behind my eyelids. I am getting used to the bitterness. I hate those who have what I want. I am tormented by the idea of someone else having what I want. I want. I want. If I want, I must have.

I look inside, into my dark heart. The outside is black, but as I peel back its layers, I see purple, I see pink, and at its core, I see an abandoned red. The wanting comes from a lifetime of never having. The bitterness is new, but the longing is old. The longing is ancient; it was passed from my grandmother to my mother and from my mother to me. The yearning is old as the trees; it has deep roots, it smells like a forest. It pads into every moment of my life on bare feet without a sound. It is heavy; it has amassed weight like a snowy avalanche. The bitterness is new, but my yearning…It is forever.