Was I Really There?

When the wind blows,
I face my palms out sideways to catch it.
The gust grazes my knuckles,
But escapes through the gaps,
Of my fingers.

When the sun spreads, I tilt my chin up
And let the slaps break my cheek.
The rays close my eyes, in a reddening sea,
And seep through the skin,
Until the words that I speak
Are as bright as the blood, within me.

I open my eyes—just a peek
For I can never tell,
If I’m really there.
And if the sun
Painted strokes on my cheek.

No, please...don’t escape through me.
I’m not a hollow brook— I’m a river.
I’m a bellowing scream— not a whisper
That dips and slips through the cracks of my fingers
No, please—I was there…
I can feel it.

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