by Eisle B. Opeña

my body is a haunted house

to be honest, i’ll never get used to living here

each crack on the wall is a new scar

the ribs in my chest hold everything together

and it carries a rotten heart

that has stopped fighting a long time ago

the wallpapers are the burnt skin

faded from the wildfires in my veins

my eyes are bloodshot and tired

and this time, i wish that i could finally sleep

and in every haunted house,

there are ghosts lost and hiding in the dark

some of them are ghosts i left behind

leaving souvenirs in their teeth like fishbones

while some are silhouettes of those who left me

and the space where they used to be feels hollow

i am haunted by the ghosts that live in my body

a quick flash of what is and what could have been

their faces are different and yet the same

bearing the familiar look of solemn and sadness

and sometimes, they watch me as i sleep

polluting my dreams with their poison and doubt

so when people came over for a visit,

i would empty my body with everything i can give

so when people decided to leave,

i would know that i gave everything that i had

so when people stopped looking,

i would finally learn that perhaps i needed it most

and then, maybe then,

i’d learn that my ghosts are nothing but memories

and then, maybe then,

i’d learn that my body is not haunted but sacred

and then, maybe then,

i’d learn that i am too much and too little

and then, maybe then,

i’d learn that being “too” is just enough

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