“Arms of Porcelain” – Nayana Nair

I have lost the memory
of the tongue that I used to speak.
Now I know 
only chaotic cries and silence.
The ghosts that used to live
in the jars of water kept by my bed,
they are silent, they are reading my thoughts
now that they can’t hear me panic
in so many words.
They want me to cry
as if my tears can make us friends,
as if all our brokenness and misery is a happy coincidence.
They want so much from me.
They want me to be happy or they want me dead.
They want me somewhere in the shade of madness that can pass off
as beauty instead.
They want me to be the rainbow of blood. They want me
to be their violent light.
They want to haunt more than my thoughts. They either want my skin or only my heart.
They want so much from me,
even when I am not theirs.
They want so much from me,
even when they don’t want me.