Around this time of year
when the sun and shorts come out
I remember the past.
Others are looking forward
while I'm looking behind.
In afternoons
in sun soaked classrooms
I look down
at my ankles and wrists
and I awkwardly shuffle to cover the past.
I remember two years ago,
and the depression I never quite recovered from.
I tug on my sleeves to cover the marks
least anyone notice the fading white scars.
I remember the razor blades
and blood soaked sheets
as I pour out my feelings
and body on to the pages.
I remember the tears and anger,
and confusion
because
why would a sweet girl from a good family
and nice neighborhood
ever do this to herself?
I remember wanting to tell someone
but never feeling like I could ever trust anyone again.
I remember my hopelessness.
I run my fingers over the crosshatching,
for the vagueness of my memories,
the scars feel so real.
And the past comes alive to me
in these afternoons
when I remember
exactly two years ago.
And today
as a similar situation arises
and for the first time
is a long time
I longed for that ache.
But instead of stiffing through the archives
to find the rusty razor blades,
I close my eyes
and whisper to myself
"You are strong.
And you will wear these scars as a reminder of how strong you are,
and how you survived."

And the past remains the past.

Paradise lost
I wonder sometimes
What sin really is
If it is
Or if it is simply the only way
To explain the unexplainable.
Our humanity courses through veins that sing questions
That bleed questions
That pound questions into our temples when we try to sleep at night
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
And eventually
We find our answers
Or we die.
But is sin?
Is it?
Or did somebody just need
A reason
For the cruelty
Of a lover?
Here is my
Religion
Here is my
Self medication
Here
Is the apology I will never get
And so eventually
I apologize
Just
So that somebody has:
Paradise lost
And somebody
Needs to be sorry
Right?
See,
Those of us who love
Like we're at prayer
Those of us who lie with
Angels
Who reach up with our mortal fingers
And trace the features
Of sculpted, velvet faces
Those of us who covet
Gods
And who are thrown from
Heaven
Ours is not to question their reasons.
They have no reasons.
Gods need none.
Humans need excuses, need why's and rationalizations
Gods
Do what they please
And they do not have reasons.
When you love a god
Your task is to survive her choices
Not question them.
I have learned-
Gods do not explain.
Gods do not listen.
Gods decide
Blindly
Permanently
Instantly
And offer no justification.
Gods decide

Alone.

And gods
Are never wrong.

I have learned
It is not for us
To challenge choices
That torture us with their suddenness.
It is not for us
To yearn for paradise
Just because we cannot understand
Why it is over.
It is not for us
To ask
Why did you leave?
Of a god who says
She never lies
Who says she loves you
And casts you out
As if the two can both
Be truths.
You can tear the universe to shreds
Trying to make sense of the truths they whisper
And shout.
The words they build you up
And demolish you with.
I could rip a hole
In all of reality
And still the love and hatred of
My own personal
Broken god
Would not fit into
One world.
You can drive yourself mad
Trying to divine the reasons
Of deities.
But
Having gained and lost paradise
So many times
I have finally learned that
The end game is this:
They are gods
Because we love them.
They are gods
Because we worship
And
They can do
Whatever they want.
There is no wrong
There is no right
There is only
Them
And they
Make both
And they change both
With the direction of the wind.

If you love someone
In a sacred way
In a pure way
In a transcendent way
What it means is that
They own you
They control your reality
And you
Must live in whatever world
They decide you deserve.

And they will
Decide.
And you will
Kneel.

It is not pretty.
It is not fair.
It leaves little room for pride
But
That
Is how it goes
When you love
A god.

And whether it seems wrong or right
The hard truth is
If you spend your life
Asking why...
*That life will not continue
For very much longer.