I found the strange ones, the quirky, the broken. I never thought of myself as any of those things, but maybe I found them because some small part of me knew even then that I was broken, too.
I still think about her. In the strangest moments, my favorite memories pop into my head. Certain smells, certain emotions, certain songs, they all put me right back there. In the ignorant bliss of my youth. Racing across the movie theater parking lot in the pouring rain, because Mom always said that rainy days were the best for movies. Walking down the marble halls of the Science Museum, looking at geodes in the black-lit display cases. Watching the pendulum swing and learning about gravity, that force that makes the world turn and aligns the planets. The very same that couldn't keep her mind here on earth with the rest of us. The same that keeps this ******* sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach. Her voice reading me to sleep, the smell of Estee Lauder perfume wrapping around my small body every time I got sad or frustrated. Her hand rubbing my back when the monsters crept their way down the hall or out of my closet and I couldn't sleep. Placing a cool rag on the back of my neck when I was sick. But it's that smell of rain that gets me every time. We're right back there running through the parking lot. Or maybe we're sitting in the living room watching the storm pass, feeling it shake the house. It was my favorite smell until recently. It smells like grey and like your soul's lifting right out of your body and up into the dewy air and it is total peace. Rain is the smell that makes the world okay. The water droplets racing along the windows of the car.
Mental Illness doesn't come crashing over you like guilt does, in those cold, salty tear-drenched waves. It's slow. Like if someone were to take an eye dropper and add ink to blood. It's dark the way blood is so you don't even realize it's there at first. By the time it catches up to you, by the time it's noticeable, your whole ******* system has been infiltrated with inky blood, choking out the oxygen or the happiness or whatever is in there that makes you who you are.
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 2:53 AM UTC
***** and naked we are free
to roam the ethereal stuff of dreams
thunderstorms kiss us goodnight
punks and roamers, we put up the good fight
old oak floors and flags in the wind
open palms confessing sins
arms outstretched we take a leap
into waters cold and deep
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
Oh no,
Darling you,
Grew up to early,
It wasn't suppose to,
Be like this,
I'm,
Sorry,
It's no fun,
Being, a grown up.
If I could I would,
Change that,
I would,
Give you your,
Imagination back and,
Go back in time,
But,
Life doesn't work like that and,
I'm sorry...
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
Blind, white fish
are natives here.
It’s always been dark
so they don’t have eyes.
In darkened streams
there is no current.
Pallid fish in pallid
dreams.
They’re ugly here,
and they swim away
from the surface.
They live and breed in caves,
repelled by light.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
grit muddy tree
shards caked into skin
golden days of fall
and the violets
quiet questions seeking
comfort the casual nothing
dirt trails
and the violets
stuff of earth
swept up into hands
flung at heavens
you disappeared
from the bookshelves
to park benches
and the violets
in my window sill
you are dust
you are the dust of earth
cast from my hand
ascended to the stars
dust of galaxies
and cars after Mt. St. Helens
wicker chairs and
neon palm trees
particles in shafts of light
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 1:31 AM UTC
the water in the
Clawfoot bathtub
is red and full of blood
and petals cut like knives
in the water
it’s sunny
light filters through the curtains
filters through blood draining
floral bedspread
and okra on a paper plate
cabernet
the wooden floor creaks
enter you
the dusk in the living room
bounces off walls
this is the house I built
this is forever
crumbling walls
and flames
welcome home
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
That night we uncorked the moon
champagne stars burst forth,
incandescent among the heavens.
We conversed with the Gods.
Swung like children upon their laughter.
Endless drunken words hung from lips
like jewels on the neck of Aphrodite.
Amorous and intoxicated,
we, the ephemeral veins,
uncorked the moon
and found ourselves among stars.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 1:24 AM UTC
there is a shift
in light the universe
the curve of your face
call it Doppler shift
light changes color
in your grey irises
the way sound changes pitch
in your insistent breath
galaxies and their stars
like interlaced fingers
the galaxies farthest
are moving faster
away from the Milky Way
and your grey irises
galaxies run
bright blue
tremble in the void
caress sky lightly
space drifts and presses
on space
leaves behind
nothing but more space
the way
marble tile in a museum bathroom
echoes in your grey irises
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
she added little lights to the corners
so she could see
she was in springtime
as the lilies and asters in the breeze
green grasses and tea leaves
welcomed the night in warmth
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC