#crows are nifty lil creature in my opinion

[graphophobiac]

Counting Crows

One for sorrow.

Chest constricting, winding tighter and tighter and tighter. The pain is unbearable. A lump in the throat, tears in the eyes. You cannot breathe, there is no air to fill your lungs. Nothing to grant reprieve.

Two for joy.

The cord snaps, the pressure gone. Your chest rises and falls with frantic breath, calming warm wrapping its arms around your trembling body. Inhale… Exhale… It’s alright now. You are safe.

Three for a girl, four for a boy.

Gender is a funny concept. Far beyond the other social constructs that you can barely understand. Gender is the least of your concerns; boy, girl. You don’t feel like either. Definitely not a boy. Being feminine is nice, but you are not a girl.

Five for silver.

Oddly, you prefer silver to gold, you still get to be on a pedestal with two others, but there is less fanfare, less added expectations of achieving the same next time. With second, silver, there is room to do better, but from the top the only way is down.

Six for gold.

The metal of victory, glistening in the sunlight. Malleable by bare hands, forcing you into the shape those around you want you to be. There is not a single regard to your wants, only expectations, more and more, uncaring if you buckle under the pressure. You must go on. You must win.

Seven for a secret never to be told.

But those jewels were never truly real. Empty congratulations echo in your head. You are not the person they want you to be, that they believe you are. You despise them for it, but can never correct them for fear of being ostracised, alone forever.

Eight for a wish.

You wish to be human, to be allowed to make mistakes. But you are not. You cannot be human. You must be a perfect robot, incapable of failing even the smallest amount. For even the smallest mistake means you are unworthy of any love. Any love you receive is meaningless.

Nine for a kiss.

Their lips press against yours, holding you tight, cradling you like the most precious porcelain ever to be crafted. They love you, they said so. However you cannot help the nagging voice in your head questioning every kind gesture, every act of love, wondering if they mean it or if they do those things because they pity you. It infects your mind. But right now, they are kissing you and holding you, and that’s all that matters.

Ten for a time of joyous bliss.

For a moment, you are free. The loneliness you are so deathly afraid of is the only thing that doesn’t judge you. The darkness, your bed, your clothes. They do not judge you. They allow you to make mistakes. Loneliness is your closest friend and your biggest enemy.