back in the day
rocks could talk
casual, petty and small-minded
just like us
every word a drop of manna
so out of conceit
we made them gods
deferred to their credibility
and like idiot children
paid attention to their great allegories
a provident sea of wisdom
from the skeletons of time
we carved their faces from stones
put them on pedestals
and gave them names
the great know it alls
urns of heaven
those oracles of old
and so ensued
the epic cycle of talking statues
and thats how decisions where made
back in the day
the statues are strangely mute now
sunken shadows into earths bowels
and the age of reason
has been transplanted
by the age of
what the fuck
hobbled world soul
of darkened consciousness
to cope with tentacles of complexity
and a forest of trials
where depth of thought has been replaced
and decisions are made by
ennie meenie minee moe
an abstruse form of ritual magic
from now on
all arguments will be settled
sticking my tongue out
now when I think of love I want to puke,
the thought literally makes me sick to my stomach because I know now what it does to a person
how you lose yourself in someone else and then all of sudden you can't breathe anymore without them
I am promising myself to never be that stretched again,
to give myself a try for once, relying only on my intuition and will to power through life and relationships, never getting too blind to see things as they really are
I wanna know what it's like to be so good alone that the earth shatters when I take a step,
electricity radiates from my skin and my soul is so loud it shouts through my eyes
Some days the past comes bubbling up like recurrent hiccups or soda burps.
I am in my own cocoon and it isn't the same as being pressed against your chest, my head tucked safely in the nook of your neck, but it is my own
and I've learned to start from nothing before.
We're 4 months shy of the two-year mark and I can honestly say I'm mostly numb to it.
Some days the skies turn ash grey and each hidden, lingering memory of you knocks the wind out of me,
But I really am okay.
There are still days like today.
When what I refuse to say yet cannot deny are found in the same string of letters, of words...
The kaleidoscopes in the sky beckon me
as do men with beautiful words...
Though when the night is still,
and my center is not,
you are the one I'm thinking of.
In your room
my lipstick stained coffee mug sits smugly on your desk
you tell me not to bring my cups up to your room after the time my unfinished coffee found its way through your bedsheets.
I sneak looks at you from the corner of my eye.
you pretend not to notice.
Littered around your laundry basket are my lacey bras and patterned underwear
I know you’ve always been neat and I’ve scattered your living space with my messy habits
and maybe you mind, but you’ve never given me a hard time for it.
my mom never made me fold my clothes, but i fold all yours.
An empty box of wheat thins stands straight up aside the trash bin
you can never make them last more than one night
and I still don’t understand their appeal
but i buy them over and over
you never forget to recycle.
Multiple journals of mine clutter your desk drawers
you ask to read what i write, eyes kind and curious
I don’t let you, but for different reasons than you think
I write my poems onto papers the size of a dog-eared page,
hide them in the pockets of your jackets
it ‘s summer. you don’t find them.
We're meant to breathe like trees and leaves,
and grow so much we stretch at the seams.
when the forest you've learned closes its eyes,
the moon says hello and bids the sun goodbye.
busy humans, noisy humans,
The Ground Is Lava, the ice caps are melting,
This flow is unsteady, this weather is sweltering.
Look at your hands, your twenty-thirty-something hands,
and stretch the body as you would rubber bands.
Emotions are riddled with molecules that collide,
Hence why it's best to leave at the sight of high tide.
How many fucks would an apathetic human give
if they knew they had eight months to live?
Save the date, your day will come;
at any rate, time's on the run.
This is your unfolding,
this is your unfolding.
There is a feeling in the center of my gut that creeps up when I think of impermanence
When I think of the billions of other galaxies in this incomprehensively vast Universe
and how important yet insignificant Earth is
When I think of the countless memories that will be left for no one to remember
When I think of the countless efforts made by billions of souls
and how one day it will be all for naught
I imagine bombs and earthquakes of such great magnitude that masses are divided and we inevitably fall head first into the abyss,
the crushing darkness engulfing all that is, was, and inhibiting what could ever be.
I imagine sitting cross-legged on the moon and gazing at my home planet
when suddenly a catastrophic explosion erupts and pieces of Earth and debris fling throughout space in every direction.
I imagine how every single argument will suddenly seem never more pointless
how the most important moments to me were the ones when I could hardly breathe due to the excitement of consciously living,
when time moved so slowly my fingers didn't age,
my heart grew softer,
my breathing became slower...
When I think of how far we've come as a collective People
and how much damage we've done with our same hands
I realize that we are human.
We are the reason for our own demise.
And with these words,
and with these atrocities,
we can learn to do better in our final days.
Very few know the way
But the ones who do
are the believers,
the day and night dreamers,
the hold-your-breath, I'm-leaving-leavers.
Heads snap up and unfamiliar eyes meet mine,
I don't know anyone here but I'm feeling just fine.
Giddiness has replaced irritability,
Readiness has replaced instability.
Certainty has replaced the doubt in my mind,
The room is spinning but I'm feeling just fine.
The Earth is turning and I'm feeling sublime.