He was a soul
crafted by Jupiter:
limitless,
wild,
and always  
searching.

I am a soul
crafted by Mars:
driven,
unforgiving,
and unyielding.

When you shunned him
for discovering
our existence
our meaning
our joys
our sorrows,
I watched
for years
and years,
a fire inside
my blazing chest.

Now, I hold the scythe
in my hand,
untouched by the flames.
I hold your fate in my hands
and watch the flames
consume you
as you await your retribution.

today marks
day 903

903 days
since you’ve left.

the first day I met you
I was tiny, barely a
fragment in this universe.
You held me
and shouted,
“She has my eyes!”

days collected together
just like a dusty library.
the memories we had together
are now ink, written and
unwritten.

how can I fit
8,035 days of admiring
your soul
learning your ways
into 78,083 pages?

yet I hope
that I got it right.
the way your heart
adored the small creatures
that purred
and deferred
your pain.

the way you
radiated joy
every time
you heard thunder
echo in the distance,
lightning splitting the sky.

the way you
carried the 10 of Wands
for days upon years
and released
finally…
this lifetime.

here I hope
that one day,
all of our days
will be held
in the hands of those
that were made
from the same
stars as us.

du bist auf einem himmelhohen Weg,
und ich kann nicht folgen.
Die Vögel singen,
und du bist auf dem Heimweg.
ich sehe die Vögel,
die deine Seele empfehlen.
ich vermisse dich,
aber du schläfst im Frieden.

simple acts of love -  
given to me . . .
makes my chest swell
with despair.
when it’s given to me,
i can’t understand it.

i want to stop
checking my body,
wiggling the door ****,
counting the fatalities,
searching my symptoms,
and asking for reassurance.

i want to be able to leave,
not doubting
that i turned the straightener off,
that i shut the toilet lid,
that i locked the door.

i want to be able to sleep at night
without tapping
the doorknob
to make sure it's locked,
or else someone will break in.

i don't want to
be scared
when i see the number 13,
or be unable to
wear a certain sweater
without the fear of being sick.

but instead of staying habitual
i have become avoidant.

We are nothing without the Earth,
But Earth is complete without us.

You make me sick.
Defying the truth
And congratulating
The deaths.
You’ve ignored the signs
And said it’s ******* fine.

How many more will it take,
Until you’ll actually care?
Bodies will pile
Beneath your feet,
But the real killer
Is their blindness.

They consume every word,
Bow to their knees and blow you,
Violently risking safety
And hitting freedom in the face.
Since when was it
The American Way
To **** security?

I have no sympathy for them,
The ones who claim
An article of clothing is oppression.
Their guns will be fine;
No one’s taking them away.
But there’s another killer
Who could infect their cells,
But they don’t care.