I looked to you
for more than a few seconds
while you were taking notes.
The sleep still gathers
in puddles under your eyes
and in that mess of hair
that no comb can tame.
Blue light casts indigo shadows
and you have worn that shirt twice this week,
but you have never looked this handsome.
But when you ask why I'm staring
I just smile and
say I spaced out for a bit
and I guess you were in the way.
Stars are invading my vision and everything is blank. All I see is blinding darkness for the next few hours. When I finally wake, I see myself hanging from my rope attached to my ceiling. I gasp in horror. My throat closes up and my eyes betray me when they allow warm tears to form puddles on my sunken-in cheeks as I watch myself sway in horror. I quickly compose myself and the silence I hear is piercing. I wait. I wait. I wait. In the next two hours, I hear someone enter my house. I freeze. I hear keys jingling and the removal of coats. Next I hear voices. Two separate voices. Two familiar voices. My muscles ease up when I realize the foreign people are simply my parents. I hear stairs creaking. (I always hated those stairs. they reverberated booming creaks while I was trying to quickly maneuver my way up them after a deceitful night of sneaking out to see someone who was my very first heartbreak - but that's a different story.) I hear laughter. I hear happiness. I hear desperate calls for my name. I hear silence. I hear frantic knocking on my door. "Open this door right now young lady! We do not have time for your disobedience at the moment!" The door swings open. Sobs. Screams. My mother falls to the floor. I hear my mother calling out for my father, begging him to somehow comfort her.
My father files in. His mouth opens. Tears escape his eyes. He doesn't bother wiping them. Through his cloudy vision, he spots my note of finals words. He reads the first few sentences. "It was my time to go, I felt it in my bones. This was for the best, for I was only making a mess. I was making a mess of my life. I ruined myself. I had to leave. I am very sorry." He only gets that far until he drops the note and frantically dials 911. "Operator! Operator! I just found my daughter, she, she hung herself!"
"Please be patient sir, we'll have someone there right away." And with that he hangs up. He looks at my fragile mother. Then to me. He eyes me up and down before shouting to no one in particular, "Why?" He loses it and breaks down even more. My mother is still sobbing. Her shoulders are shaking. I ache for her. When I was alive I had not known I could have such an effect on people. I'd always considered myself dead, on the inside that is. Now I really was dead. And there's no going back. As much as I wish I could take it back, I cannot. And for that I apologize. I snap out of my thoughts and bring my vision back to my parents. The ambulance is here. They cover me in a white sheet and take me away. My mother tries to go into the ambulance but the paramedics stop her. They drive off. My mother falls onto the street. My father beside her. They are both apologizing. They are apologizing to me. Saying how they should've been there for me. Saying they should have noticed something and helped me. They are apologizing to each other. A day later, my best friend finds out. She sprints into her room and slams her door. Carefully, she selects a razor from her wooden cabinet in the bathroom and drags it across her wrist. "I'm sorry, I should've known. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she whispers. And with that, she's gone. I have caused all of this. I caused turmoil and pain, I am the reason for my best friend to take her life. I had not known people actually cared about me. I soon realize the severity of my poor judgement. And at that very moment, what was left of my ghostly my soul withered away. I decayed into stardust and floated into space. I am gone.
This year alone, death has engulfed my soul
like euphoria entraps an addict.
Instead of getting high I'm falling low.
There is pain in my soul and it's not escaping any time soon.
There is a door in my brain that has been locked from the first day I understood somebody I knew died.
Somebody I loved died.
They were gone like a burst of wind we cannot chase, but feel ever so quickly.
It wasn't my grandmother.
Who at age three I loved completely.
By age four there was no more grandmother to help me keep score of life.
She was on the moon for all I knew and now I know better.
From age four to six I didn't question it.
By age seven I forgot, why my grandmother wasn't a forget me not
Why she didn't come back after she disappeared like the flowers do
I could never forgive and forget.
I could never forgive a God for taking family away from over ten little girls.
10 little girls from age three to age sixty
Mother, Sister, Cousin, Grandma, Friend
I could never forget that grandma = moon.
yet, when I look in the dark sky I find myself full of surprise when I think of her under the glow of a white orb.
I'm not so sure because
the reasons have blurred
I'm not so sure
They say white is the color of purity
It is what you see before death,
And that's what makes it frightening
And it's okay
I was young and every day carved its own way.
And I guess after one death people think it's the end, but when a man so great came to his fall my heart went down with him
My heart broke
My mouth moved, but soul never spoke.
He may have been the second death that hit me hard, but
He was the true first.
Then another man took the blunder.
Thee weeks in and he fell under under the spell of unlimited sleep
And I cried
For the injustice of leaving five kids young
And one Twelve
and (another) one (one)
My eyes were waterfalls
Yet, what I lacked to acknowledge was within every waterfall there's a rainbow.
The crystals fell creating puddles of salty pins.
They hurt to step on.
They hurt to think.
They create tiny stab wounds within my heart
Within my brain
Within my faith
They create spaces of emptiness
Spaces of freedom
that i seep from till one day I'll end
Some people say one death is the end.
I say it's the beginning
it isn't easy
it was never fair
i always could
hold a sword and
shield myself from
feelings you bring
with you everywhere
but long since
i can remember
my sword was
split and my shield
was lost in the feelings
you passed on to me
i want to be
you want to wake up
to in the morning
i want to be
and stars and
nose kisses that
keep you trudging
through rain puddles
of sorrow you collected
i want to be
i wish you
wanted to be
I focus on where the bones in my knees
contact with one another
They look like marrow filled plaster casts of birds bones
Like the masts of bottled pirate ships, in my mind they swing and glue pulls up the surfaces of the wood as you tear the bones out like how you gut fishes
There are sharp edges like the serrated edges of a shark tooth
Small dips where I can now curl and negative spaces are left silently empty are neatly darkened
Puddles of liquid velvet evaporate from underneath and leave the wooden surfaces speckled with sticky stringy lines of tiny alphabets, so tiny you can't tell if they come from our culture or our religion
I'd like to tread in bleached white cotton socks and feel the white fill up with red
These alphabets hooking onto the softened brittle fibres
I'd wait hours until the excess ink fell away and revealed the spaces
I'd let you place your hands between the ribboned surface, you could pull them apart, they would slide perfectly like a new key in a new padlock would twist,and I'd let you examine the utterances carefully
I'd let you place your hands on my bare ribcage so you could feel with your rough fingertips the plaster cast version, the pulse of my wooden heartbeat, you could see how the alphabet confetti has saturated it
I fold my arms and cup the spilling liquid red
I would store it in glass test tubes to be frozen
Then examine them under light as if the red were capable of chromatography
I imagine the freezing only magnifies the frost grated into my heartbeat cocktail
No it is not you who is not good enough
for maybe it is me,
I don't deserve someone with
that big of a smile,
or eyes that shine like puddles in the Sahara.
Maybe it is I who does not deserve your kisses,
maybe it is I who does not deserve your kind stares
and your sweet text messages
maybe it is I who does not quite fit in the key hole.
maybe it is I who is the broken piece of glass from your heart made of mirror,
maybe it is I who does not deserve the butterflies or the
heart ache, or the tears of joy.
maybe it is I who deserves scar painted arms,
maybe it is I who deserves the emptiness you feel,
maybe it is I who deserves to fill you up
maybe it is I who does not have any worth.
Maybe it is you, who could make me feel like I do
My God the sky turned black.
Blowing of the wind damages the trees.
Revenge for them remaining clothed.
In tardiness into December they walk slow.
Ah, their foliage should have left an age ago.
Leaves should have left the trees.
They were deceived by temperate weather.
It is still yet.
Won't be for more than minutes.
Sallow leaves attached by whispers.
Still waiting for the wind to blow.
Anarchic leaves await permission to let go.
The wind will blow.
Around ivory towers.
Ivory cast out.
Elephants long gone.
In a teacup brews a storm of sighs.
Rattles the windows and makes wet the skies.
Waiting in silence for rain to pour.
To wash off the leaves.
Make puddles bless the floor.
(c) Livvi 05/12/2013.
With a hop, skip, and a bop
Over the puddles, under the monkey bars
Tam swung for a swing set
And landed to kick rump
With a slip, slide, and a bump
Down landed Timmy, landed quite far
When he turned his head, you'd bet
Timmy was in a slump
Puddles of blood, making the leaves red
A muted soft rain flowing
With sparks of stars
Blackbirds are shy tonight
Purple blotches on her face
As her lifeless body lay
With trauma on her face
I need to cage my mind
What did I do ?