here, in the crisp July morning before the day warms
the light is still yellow
dew is still present
the grass is so green
and I've fallen in love with 8 am
there is a brisk wind that is passing through me but I'm not cold
clovers, evergreen, and dewy mornings are on my mind
Today, I will aid my brain in not succumbing to depression
Today, sunlight soothes my entire being
Everything is still
Everything is calm
I am content
This morning was like any other,
I woke up on the couch again and recounted my steps from the night before;
I had a lot of fun, I met a friend's old coworker and we drank as we played spoons at her home.
Stretch, revisit the recurring thoughts that float on through the early morn, come back from the bathroom.
I signed into Facebook as I reclined and saw there were two unread notifications and a message.
The message was from the group chat with my mother and her best friend,
I had a memory to look back on today,
And a message request from my dad with whom I have not spoken in four years-- by choice.
Staring at the screen before me, bewildered, I thought of the people who possessed a higher knowledge of defusing bombs and sent a message to my sisters, the only other ones who knew how seemingly impossible it was to escape.
My older sister immediately dismissed his request and spoke of his materialism, my younger sister had yet to open the message.
In truth, I already began to compose a letter on his birthday, which was also Father's Day.
In truth, I don't know what to say.
I could legitimately blame him for a plethora of the issues I am dealing with today,
I could justifiably call him every name in the book and simply block him,
I could write a novel of the emotional and physical scars that have only faded enough to blend into the color of my skin,
but I will not remain voiceless.
I owe it to the little girl within me who was not protected and grew up with white knuckles to protect herself,
For every agonizing hour of torture behind unsuspecting townhome walls,
For every memory I bite back because the sting alone leaves my breathing shallow
and I refuse to be made a victim again.
Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.
it's been an odd month and a half to say the very least
I cried about you in the shower when I was high and
remembered the way you first held my fingers
I guess some things I'll never understand
but for right now six grams for sixty dollars and a good night's rest is enough to keep me content.
I'm unsure of where to go from here,
I'm thinking of buying a plane ticket with my last paycheck;
I could catch another train to Florida, but something is shifting my direction to southern California.
I love this city, it's always been home,
but right now it's a bit too small and I am too tired to
pretend that seeing you does not ache.
I think it hit me that it was time to leave when I realized there isn't anyone left to settle any unfinished business with.
Which, don't get me wrong, is a good thing;
the problem is the timing couldn't be better
and for the first time in a very long time,
nothing is holding me back except for my own self-doubt.
i'm trying my best
to wake up and be kind
to be soft to the world around me
to turn the other cheek
life has handed me her lemons
and i break my back each day,
bringing her lemonade with hands
bloody and raw
the acid stings my open cuts but
i would rather feel this
than sit numbly
death has entered my address book
and crossed off names most dear
and he has looked me in the eyes,
said "not you, not yet" and left me
with my memories and my ghosts
i'm trying my best
to live up to atlas
to not let the weight of my world
i fight, and the world fights back
i bite, and the world bites back
but i will not let life harden me
she's trying her best, too
and sometimes she's winning
and sometimes she's not
i have faith on my side
there's a reason,
i must believe,
that i stand here still
and i wake up and try my best
to figure out the "why" but
there is such beauty in this world
and such sadness
and i feel both in my heart,
in my bones,
in my tumultuous soul
I don't know where to begin
I had hoped the words within me would flow as easily as my mistakes and words of misconception do.
I find myself refraining from admitting what I want to yell from
rooftops, mountaintops, anywhere anyone can hear me
as clearly as I can hear them,
But maybe I'm not really listening.
Maybe I'm listening too closely.
I want this to be a place where I can let go
without the worry of how someone will interpret it
or who will read it and what puzzle pieces they may connect
none of it matters now
these are my words
here they settle
here is the silence,
here is the calm.
I don't know if
you will ever read this,
I am doubtful that you'd care.
I guess I never knew you as well
as I thought I did.
Seeing you hurt.
I pull my gaze away
for a number of reasons
but the clearest one
makes me ache
in ways that I never thought
I could feel.
and it ultimately means nothing.
Here are my words,
thought fused with emotion.
Will I be able to separate one from the other?
What can I do to achieve this?
I wonder how much time it will take to look back at you with the same fleeting eyes of indifference
but truth be told,
I know time won't make a difference.
Some things you never really heal from,
You just learn to forget.
Here is the time,
here is the stillness,
here I am.
It is 2:30 am,
I set my alarm for 6:40.
A new day will begin
and yesterday's misery
won't seem as meaningless
or nearly as hopeless
I want you to know
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
if each day,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine