{poem} truce, she said

"Truce,"
she said,
this poet this person I don't even know,
and my world exploded.
the room dimmed.
My heart stopped.
I had to sit to keep from fainting
even though I've never fainted and I kinda wonder what it would be like
but I sat.
My hands shook so bad I had to breathe for several minutes
before I could even raise my eyes to look at her
this messenger
this killer
this instigator of change
this bringer of words.

Truce.

It echos through my head
through my core
like I've screamed it off a cliff and it bounds back from the other side,
just a small word but carrying dust from a million years of change.

Truce.

It hits me so hard, 
while I sit there, surrounded by people
none of whom notice that I've fallen into bits.
I am crumbled on the floor,
tiny fragments of me sparkling in the soft lights,
and as I lay there
destroyed
I somehow feel more whole than I ever have.

Truce.

A war rages inside me -
worse than brother fighting brother -
I fight myself.
I shoot myself with cruelty,
I stab myself with hate,
I throw granades of judgement harsh and cold
and relish when they blow,
and give the order to go over the top.
Years, this battle has battled on
my life a lie or a joke or both at the same time
fear living in my every gasp.
And oh how I've lost, lost everything I needed
everything I wanted
everything I thought I would die without,
but somehow through some harshness
through some kindness
I didn't.
So the war rages on
me vs myself vs I,
and there will never be a winner.

Truce.

Truce, and the white flag appears on the horizon.
Truce, and the possibility opens -
truce, that we might not have to fight forever.
"Truce," I scream til my voice gives out
and I want to paint it all over my body
breathe it til my skin gives in
whisper it til it rides the wind
cry it til it fills the oceans
fill myself with it til I am overflowing
and can never remember what I felt like before
so full with truce with white flags with peace treaties and promises
that I will never be empty.

And I lay down my weapons of words
and I meet my eyes again at last,
and I pray and I cry and I gnash my teeth and I finally agree
to call truce, to end at last this war.

Truce.