Buried alive are parts of me
They scream in pain but I don't want to hear it
They scream inwardly, silently
I chip away at it, I try to cut it, exorcise it
Yet nothing works except the burial
I say a prayer that I leave the world a better place for my children
So they may bury lesser parts of themselves
A friend of mine spoke about a funeral and a wedding and I wondered ...
Did the person who died have parts of themselves still alive?
And the people getting married - how many parts were sacrificed for the same
Is the funeral then an act of resistance against the constant burial that we have to do to 'live'
The burial is attended by other parts of me
Who have been witness to many such burials
They are quiet as I lower it to the ground
For they are scared their fates may be the same someday
I imagine the shell of me that might exist one day
A burial ground of my parts that don't fit in this world
The shame, the sorrow, all gone now
Replaced with a numbness that cant be shaken away
A curious thing happens though
When I hear terms of endearment pass my way
Parts of me slowly resurrect in hopes that they will be met this time.