Sleepy emptiness.

If you feel empty, he says,

his voice like molten lava,

if you feel empty then, child,

why are you crying so?

Why do your fists clench in unison

leaving half-moon indents on your scratched and aching palms?

Why does your heart flutter

when you read the replies acting like an elephant dominating the room?

You can’t feel empty, he says,

because that, my dear child, that is not emptiness.

Why then do you flush red

when people utter kind loving words to you?

Why do you sit alone on your bed

wearing a fake smile that begs for forgiveness when you have not sinned?

What is emptiness, my child,

if not a space full of holes?

Why does your breathing surge

when people say hello?

Why do you rise with happiness and flustered grins

only to collapse in doubt and misery not moments later?

That cannot be emptiness child,

I will not allow it to be.

You don’t feel empty, he says,

as we both watch my hand bounce on my knee,

you feel too much and it exhausts you, the trembles

halt and freeze,

you need more sleep dear child, more food, more warmth, and more smiles upon your rosy cheeks,

come now dear child, lay your weary head down upon this pillow made of your dreams,

and go child, go to sleep.