she gave me an earring

She gave me an earring.

It is a simple stab with thousand punches, it was worth it.

It dances and wriggles, humming the rhythm of laughter, humping the dash of hollows.

For every bleed, I mourn to reach an alcohol, pouring down a whole for a cry call.

For every bleed, it dances.

It was the first gift I received.

I fell back harder than the times I hit my head down the surface.

It was a grave, the dances transcribed on my DNA.

I watched in awe fore I see the wiggles of bloody ice with a golden trek of chains hanging in somebody else’s. I’ll bled with envy.

But when I see the rhythm of this bloody ice and chain ticks with me, I will bleed with joy and tour more days with alcohol.

I take them with pain, and I’ll crave more bloody races.

“When are they going to be fully healed anyway?” I wondered, but I didn't count.

My days are set on fire to dance with these earrings. It was those days I count and remember.

Those days where I remembered my teacher asked, “Are you a star?” for wearing this rhythm.

I felt ashamed, the way she asked and implied the inappropriateness of this behavior according to my age.

But now that I recall, I can't help but to laugh about it. My earrings agreed and danced with the melodies I am writing.

I am living the best life as I am living with the gift given to me.

The waiting game for pain to subside was worth the prize.

For it was the given that made me gift myself.

It wriggles, and it was the first dance that ever lured my attention.

And I am a blindsight whistle, nothing stays within my vision.

I’ll take more pain if I need to.

Posted on @deintywoodtales (dada on tumblr)

dada