Why
A serious question why
Why am I left here with my head buzzing for hours on end
A minuscule rattle not actually there but felt
I’m left starting at a ceiling thoughts no more than blurred images through that rattle
Who can think through that
There’s an urge to move to speak but where does it goes
Where does it leak into and spill outwards
I wonder if there’s a ending to this
The rattle it says the walk into the night
To sit on the bridge smoking cigarettes you’re too scared to buy yourself
Stare into the water for hours and jump if you must
You’ll live you’re too resilient but what if for a moment you weren’t
When you sit and feel the outline of your head
When you lay down and think only of wanting to bleed but you’re too nervous of the next person who will see your body to ask questions to do so anymore
It gets harder to hide, you can wear as many clothes as many layers but he will trace over your skin and make question once more
Why you are left breathing quietly alone and sounds of the air falling in the room are what keep you there still
I didn’t ask for this but I was made for it
Somehow I am perfect here
Somehow is this the apex of what I am becoming and have already become
And somehow I dream a little dream of no longer being this way
But that would no longer but someone I knew late at nights and through the silence of the day
Who would this person become
Would the mirror kiss them softly as they go about their day
The eggshells across the floor would be swept away
But who am I to become that
I’m tired of trying to beat myself into submission of a false pretense of being full
So I’ll lay here once more and learn to be okay with what’s been there longer than I have been  generation

Never could I accept my place here
I saw an ending and wept to myself nights on end
To see and turn a cheek is all I could do
I learned to live in your shape
And to yearn quietly when so far away you were
In the night aching was born

Then suddenly the mornings you were there
I melted into you with the heat of Savannah at my back
And you phased right through me
Taking what I had wanted with you
But for a moment I was there
Living in the shape of you
And the aching had quieted in the night
As your arms lulled me to sleep for a final time

Yes, you can call me
Yes, I know well it’s late
I’ve stayed up just incase

Spent my whole life waiting
On something, on someone
Drop a plan, ignore a need
Set aside time for you

I sit staring at a clock
It’s ticks align with my breath
Each exhale is a moment closer
Until you might beckon

A life built on waiting
To love something smaller
A life made for waning
To love and to falter

Pick up the pieces behind and above you
They won’t clean up by any means
Asking isn’t a question
A voice is hardly there
You can cry when the task is over and done
When you’re in your room alone again

There’s a cliff and I stand on it
One foot proudly waving in the air
I’m stuck there supported only by one
In time the cliff will crumble and reseed back into its mountain
And will I fall?
Or in time will they come again, mining away at the rock behind me
Not a choice I’m making but simply waiting
Waiting for the valley below to be greener
And for the sunrise to be perfect
There is that day that exists in me
Will something ever sprout below?
Will something beautiful ever belong here?
Who would know such answers?

Am I a chalice?
Is that who I am?
Glory and love pour out
Til droplets on the rim are all that is left
Some would wipe it clean
We shall not thank such a chalice
And what of its source?
Where does the thought lie?
Why are some tongues still dry after drinking more than they could take?
Why does the chalice stay like this?
Where is it making its new wine to fill and give and break once more?

The deep caress of a hot and heavy air that sits outside my window
The trees that shake beneath this air and the wind it brings
The thunder rolling over the hills and creeping it’s way forward
And the rain it brings that fills the lands and in pools spilling over
Where the frogs sing their song in the night harmonizing with cicada cries
The summer storms that bring in something to be left unspoken
And the stirring of a bed half empty
I could hear the longing in these storms
Summer slouches in your absence but in these storms and it’s thunder
Your presence is rolling along with it