I think it was written by men
That God loves us all
In terror of the unspoken thought
That if this brutal world is, in fact,
Divinely planned
To the smallest detail
Then god cannot love at all.
It is written that there is a catch-all acceptance,
A safety net support for the human spirit,
In fear of the un-uttered truth
That nobody loves us all
And so we must love each other
One by one
In place of a god
Who has bigger plans than tenderness.

A mind is a glorious thing to have.
Mine is a weapon and a tool.
My problem is
I love to think.
I think impossible things, I dream in paradox and theory.
This mind
Can work like a machine,
Gears and motors whirring,
Excitement firing on all pistons,
Ideas flying like sparks,
Inspiration billowing like steam.
But.
If left unused, if not oiled and polished
And constantly working
It turns in on itself
With a sawblade whine
And a merciless drive.
If not always occupied
This mind is a steal trap
Snapping shut on my neck,
Snagging every worry and fear
But letting all the comfort slide right through the grate like
Powdery ash.
Precision and cruelty
Go hand in hand in here
And the other face of awe
Is always chaos.

I am asking you to be kind to me.
Let me remember.
Let me dream.
For however many months,
Don't let it fade.
I've read articles, I've researched for years
The mind, the logistics of memory.
I did it out of love.
I've explored it with the singular focus of a dying man
Scouring old books for evidence
Of the Fountain of Youth.

What can I do?
A certain perfume
Worn
To jog the brain and keep a memory in tact.
A gesture or a way to breathe
That brings you back to a lost moment,
A song or maybe
Just the deliberate reconstruction
By the detail
Of a beloved face in the air before you
Although you know it isn't there.

You can train your mind
To conjure ghosts.
And I have done so with mine, over years,
Even when it turns the talent on me viciously.
Am I toying with insanity
Inviting it in?
Perhaps.

Memories are gossamer, fragile,
Like paper so thin and pale and delicate
That you can see right through
And one touch of your fingers,
Even the lightest,
Powders them to silky dust.

I've sought relentlessly
Every trick and association,
Every scientific shortcut
To keep my treasured moments close.
I've touched, willfully, every detail of every second I can recall
Touched the smallest lines and angles and
The little places where the illusion wears thin
Unable to hold the potency of reality
Only its reflection.
I have made myself touch every single moment
That I know it would be easier to leave alone-
Memories are not meant to be so scrutinized.
The price of keeping them is the uncomfortable proximity
To something good which is long past
And the peculiar grief that it will never come again.

But there are things
There are people
In this world
Simply too important, too essential
To let go of.
There are memories
Worth the unsettling work of holding them.
There are moments
I would rather die than not relive.

Please,
I know you are more extraordinary than math equations and good grades
And pages and pages of poetry.
I know that with all of our hidden corners
And how little we know about our minds
You must have a way, you must have a gift for me,
You must have a chance to keep this close.
I am asking you to be what you are.
I am asking you to let me remember.
I am asking you to send me dreams and smiles
And to never let those blue eyes fade to the sepia of old memories
But to keep the vibrance that stops my heart
Alive in my head.

In my dreams
I am too powerful to ignore.
I've learned a thing or two there.
I've got a flinty stare
And a chip on my shoulder
Things I hide beneath a meek smile
An unimpressive little girl voice,
And an eagerness to help.
But behind these eyes
Is a creature that craves power.
My only fear is that I know I have it.
Once I tip my hand,
Once everyone sees it
What will I have?
What's my ace in the hole
If everybody knows I know I'm strong?
In my dreams
They'd be everyone else's nightmares
In my dreams
I run through rainslicked streets
Chased by gunmen
And I feel alive.
I smile, feral,
And I laugh as I fight.
I want that in my body.
I want those bruises and that sureness,
I want my power.
In my dreams when I am set upon
I think
Finally
And I give it my all with a freed laugh
And a joy too wild for waking hours.
I am too powerful to ignore.
I am too powerful to stay hidden.
When I rip off this flimsy skin and step forward
I want to be naked and smug.
But I am afraid that I will have no power
If I don't hide mine.
If it is seen
Is it lessened by the viewers?
My secret
My secret
My secret is I am not
Afraid.

Hurting myself more
By hurting you,
So ill retreat to keeping
My mouth shut,
As i usually do