day zero
the in between—
when it hasn’t quite sunk in
yet you stand at the edge of an awakening
you wish you never had
through blaring thoughts and bleak musings
i say
it’s but a dream
only, it’s not

day zero
the nostalgia of what once was
and has been
yet can never again be
ultimately, it’s not the fear of where i am
but that of uncertainty
that of where i’m supposed to be

day zero
denial in every corner of my mind
with no way of picking the truth apart from lies
those told by leaders, those told by us
“it will all be over soon”
times are turbulent
but that on which my hope is anchored
is not

day zero
i am tired
tired of anticipating what inevitably is to come
when i say im tired,
i mean
i'm exhausted
of the way things are handled and the
direction things have gone
why
that at such a time
all that's been done is less good
more harm
but trust that there’s always
a ray of sunshine
a silver lining
behind the clouds—
that at such a time
let it shine

day zero
the clock strikes one
one, two, three
then a couple thousand
the clock strikes two,
two, three, four
no one goes out the door
the clock strikes three,
three, four, five
terminate those who fight
the clock strikes four,
four, five, six
it has come to this

day one—
it is here.

in the midst of the whirlwind inside
that begat every jagged shard
of which the fragments—ever so carefully shattered—
remain the only reminiscent shadow of what once was
of your heart

that in spending time with you
come deafening bursts of menacing contemplation
bleak musings of pure despair
seemingly intent on dispiriting every bone in your flesh
absent a way to stifle blaring thoughts
amid such daunting solitude

one look in the mirror
paired with words of distaste—
for you seem never to pause for mutterings
other than that of repugnance—
a critic to your own, a belittler
to none other than self

that an unadorned you
bare, stripped down
i will know to love—
every sheer nook and cranny—
for who you are

the greatest terror
lies in digging deep inside of you
and what clandestinity it may reveal
for in my chiseling
a torment so immense will befall you
through which gales you ought to learn
the significance
of knowing how to hold your own hand
and walking you through such tempestuous bits
to learn to quiet your mind,
still your soul

for one does not simply stumble upon the
tranquil silence he yearns to be acquainted with
and the acceptance
he ever so wishfully aches for
but in the midst of such turbulence
i shall set out
to learn to love you
in spite of you