Threatening Whispers

My bones once told me to lighten up.

Told me to stop worrying about myself and to start taking care of others. I've listened to my bones. Been obedient.I am responsible for making others happy when I can't even feel just okay myself.

I hear my bones.

They told me they were tired and achy but I don't have time to let them rest. My bones ask too much from me. They work me until I sweat, cry, bleed. They call me weak when they are the ones who keep breaking and falling apart on me as I age.

My bones are sore from how I thrash them around and kick in the walls when I am upset. The holes in my bedroom are proof that I make them angry. That they upset me.

My bones once told me to not be afraid of anything, but I'm the one that has to stop them from rattling when things go bump in the night. My bones are God fearing just because my soul is. But my soul left my body too long ago and I've forgotten how special the hypocritical religions here were to me once upon a time.

My bones told me I need to stay away from boys.

They forgot about that though when a man held me too close and too tightly for them to push away.

My bones hate me for even letting that become a possibility.

My bones don't speak to me anymore. They stand by watching me make mistakes everyday without a care in the world about how I can't live, breath, or move without them. My heart would be bruised if some one only laid a finger on it with out my rib cage protecting it.

They stand over there in the corner watching me with those two empty eye sockets, red with envy of the attention I pay to other skeletons. My structure tries to whisper threats to me but it's too quite from the distance it stands at.

Come closer.

Close enough to touch me so I can quickly catch you and lock you up inside my floppy cage of skin who is hopeless without your support.

I'm glad you decided to come back willingly, Bones.

Welcome back.