i'm starting to feel soft again,
i'm starting to recover from the damage
that came with holding onto a heavy heart.
colorblind and shrouded by a fog,
i could barely see what was right in front of me.
the sun doesn't burn my eyes anymore.
there is an infinite and indescribable beauty that exists
in the early hours of the morning,
when i can feel the weight of the return
of my human consciousness.
i'm starting to have dreams again,
dreams that i can fondly remember.
like a past life that still exists within me.
i'm starting to feel the vibration of music in my chest,
the power of a deep connection to sound.
despite the cognitive dissonance
of believing that i deserve pure and wholesome love,
i can feel it's inherent truth.
i'm starting to abandon my ego,
i'm starting to fill my life with everything that makes me thrive.
i'm glowing now.
Mar 16, 2022
Mar 16, 2022 at 12:18 AM UTC
it took years and so many callings from the sea
before i understood that you are not the only one,
despite what you have told me.
despite the messages you programmed into my vulnerable, developing mind
--no one will ever love you as much as i do--
no one will hurt me as much, either.
a disturbing sentiment about what should be the purest thing i would encounter
i was tainted and sought out toxic affection--
those who damaged me and covered it with
empty apologies, loveless touch.
it hurt and felt like the home i was accustomed to.
every day spent bathed in the sun,
towered over by redwoods or sticky from salty air, i
came a bit closer to home.
it wasn't a destination, it was an understanding of the truth
that i am not alone and i never will be.
your words were all i heard but not all there was
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
oh god,
i can feel those old wounds in there,
buried underneath layers of new.
they kept building up without repairing the foundations.
i can hear them decaying a little more sometimes,
i can hear them calling to me
they retch and gag on words that aren't really meant to come up.
a disgusting cycle of retch, swallow, retch, swallow,
swallow until you think you're okay and then you ***** everywhere.
the words got lost in the struggle, they translate wrong
after ejecting from its cocoon, pain dries its crumpled wings
and flies away as a bitter and seething hatred.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC
these things are you, to me:
chickens running free, loud squawks, they sleep easy.
freshly fallen snow, soft, powdery, fallen just to be jumped in, messed up, free.
sunshine, the kind of joy that seeps into my idle mind and tugs at the corners of my mouth even in the most inappropriate times.
silliness, passion, intensity
determination, love, contagious energy.
i could feel your waterfalls, your droughts
but could you feel how loved you were?
because i loved you like a brother, like a friend, like i understood you
and you understood me, like i felt the unspeakable agony
that at times crushed us.
i felt you from beginning to end and loved you the same.
you're quite abstract to me now.
i still love you, my lovely, distant friend.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
i've got the blues but i sure can't play 'em like you can
head, heart, and soul weary enough,
but fingers? not quite.
sing to me with those hands, i'll learn from the best.
you don't even have to be sorry anymore, my baby heart can hear yours.
you don't have to apologize when i see you.
i'm growing my hair out, dad, it's thick like yours.
i hurt myself, dad, i hurt myself like you.
i'll sing to you with my heart, i'll heal, you can learn from the best.
i found you again in a Yonkers basement, i couldn't help but think
you (maybe) never left.
i'll hold tight to my baby heart, i'll burn in the way that i heal,
i'll crumble in the way that i'm whole.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
i'm thinking about the moon tonight,
i'm thinking about a side of her no one gets to see.
and i wonder what she thinks about me?
i talk to her sometimes, i ask for help
and then i say, "actually, what the **** can you do?"
and it makes me feel so much better.
i howl to her, i float in an abyss bigger than i can imagine.
it is here i am infinite,
it is here i am free.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC
ouch. ouch. ouch.
my heart is screaming. it has expanded beyond it's threads,
burst through the weak spots and proceeded to sink,
deflated and limp, down though my body.
it is broken. i have no heart.
Carey LeCamp i love you, i love you so much with what used to be
my heart. you were my first and only family;
you're lost from this world, my world, your mother's world,
forever.
but what do i know about death?
you're not lost, there's a picture of you, crumpled, at the bottom
of what used to be my heart.
you're in photos, memories, laughter, the past. you're in snow and playful chickens and the flutter of a black speckled butterfly. you're in the tears flooding my vision, my tense muscles.
and this version of you, well i can love him too.
i can love your new abstraction, this newfound distance you possess.
i can love him too but i can tell you i'll really miss your bright laugh
and the warmth of your life.
i'll put your photo on the ceiling so you can always be lost in my thoughts, if you want, and i'll believe that there is something
beyond my comprehension that exists at the end of this world.
i'll believe this until peace reinflates my heart,
oxygen my muscles. i'll love you with the strength i did
while you breathed, with the strength i do the rest of the world.
and the only thing that i hope is that you feel this love.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 9:58 PM UTC
an abundance of words is just as easily a void, and
i am dangerously close to forgetting how to speak.
there are jagged lines, meticulously spaced--
hues of lavender, rose, and pearl.
they tell a story of silence that has gone on too long.
look closer, or look away; silence.
when it was convenient, she would wipe up spilt blood--
but what about the knife? left sharp as ever
in my vulnerable hands, controlled by an even weaker mind.
so try to tell me you helped.
the brain is fragile: handle with care; vulnerable; easily shifted, moulded, changed, altered; the brain is the world and my world was in a state of collapse because in there
i killed my father (but sometimes he left me)
and i could trust my mother no matter how many reasons
she gave me not to.
but what's really ****** is that i'm not writing about what i was
trying to write. i am silenced. in my own writing,
in my own thoughts, i still struggle to put into words
how exactly it feels to question an entire reality,
to not even know who i am,
because my sense of the world around me is constricted,
restricted, and warped for a reason i couldn't understand
as a child and still don't understand now.
it feels like the middle of the ocean.
you can drown or pray for decent weather.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
if the subconscious is an ocean,
then the thoughts and feelings and memories and ideas are waves;
waves change with the tides and the weather;
what's my weather, what's a mood?
where's my moon, who's my moon,
who shifts the sea? is the ocean a part of me,
am i part of the ocean, or am i merely floating--
sometimes swimming, sometimes dog-paddling, sometimes surfing, sometimes drowning--
within or upon it?
who is 'me', 'i'?
ego, soul, a mysterious entity, nameless?
how does this flesh vessel interact with the deeper within?
how does the deeper within interact with the world?
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC
do you know everything about me?
would i be familiar if we spoke,
or would you see me as half a mystery--
some warped girl of six who grew up wrong
could i talk to you anyway?
could i tell you and would you understand
the deja vu type feeling of the same
way other people break my heart
for good as well as bad?
anyway, i would tell you that no one
is gentle enough.
i've been listening to bob dylan all day
and maybe i'd like to talk to him too.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 9:17 PM UTC