Reaching, stretching, wishing, hoping, pulling, wanting
someone to take my hand and hold it just to know
one is not afraid to touch my filth. Like the first
small sprout of spring I slowly open my petals,
hoping, wondering, dreading that someone might see
me. Might notice my colors. Might ignore me and
crush me instead. I shiver and wither. I hold
the drops back, don’t let them fall to the pedestal
of my face for all to see and crush under their
feet. I flinch at each small step and each vibration
that threatens to topple the delicate pieces
I tried to glue together. Cover my eyes and
bar the doors to keep staring, shooting arrows from
making their way through the gates to my soul. Build
a fortress around every scrape, every scar, every
cut, every bruise, every discoloration, every
spot of dirt, every hangnail. Set up defenses
when another approaches. I must speak, smile, laugh,
do something to keep them from looking closer, from
asking questions, from grabbing my desperate hand
that still reaches despite the overpowering
terror. It reaches, shaking and longing to grasp
something solid, something alive, something equally
flawed. Like each fragile petal it wants to feel the
breeze of exposure and the warmth of the sun. But
that is impossible. None would take me for me
over the actor I have become. So the tears
continue to fall behind closed lids and closed doors.
Alyssia Vanderlaan is a Writing and Honors Humanities double major with a minor in Business Administration at IWU. She is not sure what her dream job is; however, she looks forward to using her skills in many different positions and potential careers. In her free time, she enjoys reading, writing, and spending time with friends.