My bones have a lot more to say to me these days.
They won’t shut up, morning through night. My cracking bones reminding me the
mistakes I made in my youth.
I rub at them with affection, regretting nothing,
knowing I don’t have a jealous bone in my body. They take a crack at me, letting
me know I still have a skeleton or two in my closet. Funny bones that they are,
they love to cause me pain.
Bad blood runs between us. I search for sleep but
the slightest movement sets my bones chattering. Their cracking grows worse and
I learn a tough truth about myself. I do not have a kind bone in my body and it
makes my flesh crawl.
I’ve had a skin full of my lazy bones but we’re
joined at the hip. I offer to give them a piece of my mind but my bones have no change
of heart. You and I, we are not flesh and blood they snap, we are nothing more
than skin and bone.
A fracture that can’t be knitted.
They’ll defeat me over my dead body, when I am dust and
they are still my still bones.
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