Needless to say I'm not bi lingual
Especially not in the language of power dynamics
I have seldom worn my tongue different than I was told
Telling truths that I seldom believe
I have been known to say that mountains are tall
And that they will never bow to us
Rubble is an illusion
Onlookers can not wear down a mountain
Onlookers are only allowed to touch the mountain when it is convenient for its rocky face
Any heights that we may perceive to have we have from their gift of perspective
Personify the ice on their shoulders and tell yourself it is soft
It is snow
It is so beautiful
Because the mountain decrees it so
You will never know from the top
That you should be so lucky to see the sun hit it's shoulders
Marvel at the privilege that must come from that height
How much strength that comes from being erected
Even when you know that onlookers aren't supposed to look too hard
Less they be seen
Wanting
Onlookers should know
That there is guilt in being born an onlooker and not a mountain
Perhaps
You find joy in looking up at the face
You love the height and make yourself
Native
Kneeling
The ground feels like it has had a shift over the last 100 years
You must be hallucinating
You love the praise
The deep sound as the air from around them hits your ears
It tells you
There is a joy being close to the earth
You ask for them to call you theirs
Collaring yourself to a specific shore
Assuming a position you are more than happy to hold
Beneath them
Then
You hear whispers
Some onlookers
Looked upon themselves
Noted their height
And called themselves climbers
Climbers
Then
You see them in black with rope and leather boots
Steel toes sinking in to the surface one hook at a time
Their mountains whistle at their new ledges
Allegedly this is where you start to see rubble
See as these climbers take no heed to what toxic mountainous structures
They have chipped away
As it falls
They look at you
And grin
Even from their heights
You see their red lipstick
Then
You run to your own mountain and exclaim
I have seen climbers
They have set foot upon your brothers ground
It has broken and caused them joy
Won't you let me climb?
The stones then say
Along time ago
When my ground seemed closer
My snow less cold
I had seen such a metamorphosis
One onlooker bestowed on me her rope
And it held me too tight
Her footing too hard
Steel toes too Stifling
She climbed
And climbed
Though I howled for her to stop
So I vowed to never give out the reigns again Small one
Then
Looking down in shame
You feel the ground of the old rubble beneath you
Yet you can't ignore the itch under your feet
It is not the mountains fault you long to climb
Yet on wild nights it whispers too
To feel you on top
Only if you want to
So you stumble
You swear it is an illusion
You swear
You will not long for it
In what once held you content
Holds you contrarian
I can not relinquish the control small one
You hear them say
It is you who looks for the joys in being little
A mouth shut in service
You long to say
But I will still be your little
And you will still be my mountain
Instead you watch the laughs in the moonlight
As leather bound climbers
With rope in hand
Call to each other
Red lipstick on their lips
Balancing
Thick thighs clenched around their mountains
tip
And you wish that you could see
Just how beautiful
Your mountain would look from that height