Grapes for Breakfast by abby m.

Grapes for Breakfast

Yesterday I ate grapes for breakfast, half of them squishy 

And brown,

And gross, 

And I told you my life story,

Tears dried on the frames of my glasses from me crying with my head

In my lap. 

I ran into the kitchen before the silence grew too loud

Too overbearingly loud 

For those few moments, the world shut off

Even the birds stopped singing and the wind ceased blowing 

It was all so loud, louder than I could have imagined, 

Like a raging,

Relentless,

Waterfall.

It was just about to suffocate me 

When I fled to get more grapes.

The only way to describe a 

A silence like that one, one that smothers everything around it,

 Is with a sound.

I also wanted to clean my glasses

So I could at least see while we talked about how I could feel like 

Less of a rotten grape, shall we say, and more of a person. 

In the end, you said you understood but

There was plenty of time, from me carefully picking out each rotten grape

To me scrubbing off each dried tear,

For you to come up with something to say to me,

And that is what you came up with?

I must have worn my thoughts on my face 

Because you started to defend yourself

I don't believe you can understand 

That's okay, you can sympathize but that only goes halfway 

I don't believe anyone can understand until

Until

You have tears dried on your glasses frames 

So bad

You can't see,

Until the world suffocate you

With its silence, 

And until all you have left for breakfast,

Is a bag of rotten grapes.  

☆☆☆