Hit after hit
head under water (inebriated)
unable to swim,
I choked,
unsure if by God's hands or my own.
But by God I swallowed it all
then begged for more.
I sank until my feet hit the bottom
stirring the sand around my legs
then upwards.
The ocean floor obscured,
my vision obstructed.
Desperately I swiped
in vain,
and swiped again,
but still the obstruction remained.
And God laughed
and I choked
either by God's hands or mine,
by miracle or design.
Am I Him
or Him me?
Seething with questions
sung and unheard,
then yelled and ignored,
I finally lay myself to rest.
A deep sigh escaping my breast,
I surrendered to rest.
Sleep overcame me
and I dreamt of pearls,
that one day this heaviness
would give birth to pearls.
But alas I awaken
and in my night terror
I had stirred the sand again.
I do not remember.
God let me remember.
I dream of pearls
and of pearls I dream.
Yet still am I to awaken
to this dream.
The sand begins to settle
but the hand stirs again,
never lain to rest,
the obstruction remains.
Sometimes I see glimmers,
gleams and glistens
of the pearls I've only
seen in my dreams.
And by God's hands they gleam
as they always did.
But my hands became rough
from the sand that stirs
and I fear to ever touch,
a pearl,
to ensure that I never
grind her back to sand.
For God shall laugh
and I shall choke.
"Stay sleeping, little one.
Dream of pearl,"
He said.
And deliver He did
oblivion and pearls.
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 3:49 AM UTC
If the shadow of a loss remains,
is it really desolate?
Where the mind fills the emptiness of a desire,
does it exonerate?
"Things can be two things."
Riddled with crypticism,
in vain,
I entertained
an eagerness to negate.
Then in both his absence
and absent presence
I finally conceived how right
he was (is)
all along.
Mar 9, 2022
Mar 9, 2022 at 2:29 PM UTC
See the man
Adorned in black?
My home,
is there.
Smile,
A white picket fence.
My place,
my home of rest.
Somewhere
Afar.
My home
I sought.
Silver linings,
Adversities,
My home
I found
Surrender, I did,
At a gaze.
My heart, I tried.
Believe me I tried...
"Sieze! Raid!"
Ablaze the home!"
My heart, no,
one needs a home.
"Surrender!
Any will do!"
My heart, no,
home is You.
"See that man?
Adore him you do."
My heart, it spoke
of home and you.
Somehow,
An absurd world,
My heart
a compass to you.
So like that,
A home became
My love,
my love, a home.
Mar 3, 2022
Mar 3, 2022 at 5:01 AM UTC
A gaze.
A silver line between
love
and terror.
A silver line of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.
A gaze,
too afraid to gaze
lest we acquaint ourselves
with gold
or bronze.
Too egocentric,
too self defeating.
A silver line of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.
A silver safety belt,
clip the lines,
halt the grinds,
lest we acquaint ourselves
with loving gold,
or terrifying bronze.
Lest we stray
from the silver line,
the safety belt,
of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.
Lest we stray,
forever shall we stay.
A silver gaze,
humdrum days.
Neither here, nor there,
forever
and perpetually,
'ere'.
A gaze.
Mar 3, 2022
Mar 3, 2022 at 4:54 AM UTC
Day 4:
Full glass
empty glass.
Another full glass
another empty glass.
Where is he tonight?
wash rinse repeat
wash rinse repeat
wash rinse
repeat.
Month 5:
Plead sobriety
f--- sobriety.
A happy dance. (drink)
Thou shall not drink!
Thou shall not dance!
Thou should like to dance.
(drink)
Glass, help me dance.
Month 11:
Waste away
waist away. Another
full glass no food.
Another empty glass no
food.
(Naltrexone)
wash rinse repeat wash
rinse repeat dance
drink
repeat.
Month _ :
One shot.
Four shot.
(You're alone tonight.
I'm with you tonight.)
Six shot.
Nine shot.
(I'm with you tonight.
You’re alone tonight.)
Bathroom floor tonight.
Day 1:
Sober tonight
f--- tonight.
tremor purge
repeat sweat
tremor repeat.
(You're alone
tonight. You're alone
tonight.)
I’m alone tonight.
wash rinse…
Day 365:
Clean.
Jan 25, 2022
Jan 25, 2022 at 5:04 AM UTC
My saint,
my good Samaritan
who never leaves.
How lucky I am -
so grateful for
my humanitarian man.
How lucky I am,
so grateful for
his faultless memory -
reiterated recall -
everyone else left you
Oh my humanitarian man.
My good Samaritan,
holy martyr.
A heart for a soul -
a love to barter.
So sweet (so deserving) a sacrifice
for my humanitarian man.
A heart for a soul,
so sweet a sacrifice.
*For if our love shall perish
accept my death twice*
How lucky I am,
my humanitarian man.
My saint,
my good Samaritan.
he'd die for my heart -
he'd never leave.
So how could I part
my humanitarian man?
How lucky I am.
How lucky I am.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
I danced
under savage flame
and the sound
of wood splitting.
I could not see
that I burned down the house
until the moon set
and I stood cold
amidst charcoal
that crumbled
in my palms.
The books we read,
vinyls we spun,
letters we wrote,
clung to my skin
like a crime scene.
He was blackened too -
watching from afar
as I danced
and sowed gasoline
over everything
he loved.
He was blackened too -
and crumbling
within my palms.
Waiting from afar
for the last ember
to die.
I burned down the house.
Again.
But he picked me up
and carried me
to our bed.
Scorched -
where we cried in agony
at a whisper
across our skin.
Every sunrise
we're washing the charcoal
from the sheets
and purging cinder
from our lungs.
Planting seeds
where foliage
was lost.
We wait now
for the day
the flames in our eyes
become another Polaroid.
For the day
we can laugh
at how I burned down the house,
and finally saw
the mxthxrfxckxr crumble.
Yet still,
he doesn't
break.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
Time moved through me
forgetting to carry me
with her.
And I waited.
Like the businessman
at Flinders Street Station
- stagnant -
while the world passed him by,
and time moved through him,
in fast motion;
forgetting to whisper past
his cheek
and sweep the petals
from his eyes.
For he carries a garden inside,
but all gardens
need time.
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 1:58 AM UTC
I've never been fond
of the colour red.
I found it loud,
inexhaustible.
Arrogant.
I felt small around red,
an anger
that I was neither loud,
inexhaustible,
nor arrogant.
I found a home
in grey
and they called me
the grey woman,
equal parts white,
and black.
Neither here,
nor there.
Quiet,
passive,
contemplative.
How does
a grey woman
navigate a world
built for red men?
I met a man,
who was a fan
of Pink Floyd
who reminded me
that pure white
is a rainbow
and from then
I no longer saw grey
as equal parts
white and black.
Now I paint
my nails red
and lay down beside
that Pink Floyd man
every night.
He reminds me of red.
That's why I like him.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 10:35 PM UTC
The generation
of more self-help bestsellers
than people willing
to self-help themselves,
but will Google-search
"how to stop self sabotaging"
after a friend of a friend
tagged another friend
in a Facebook article,
once.
We pay some expensive ********
with a piece of paper
in a frame
to tell us
what we already know,
but your mental health
is a good investment,
right?
It's nice to believe
that humans can be
akin to the übermensch,
and such supremacy
can be achieved
with therapy,
with healing,
with pretty little pills.
It's easier to accept
we are jaded,
than admit
we were born to be
our own devil.
Just watch
as Mother Nature devours
her own children
by flame,
and maybe we'll begin to see
that we were created
to die a hundred times over
at the end of
our own hands.
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 12:13 AM UTC