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sol Apr 2020
my body is
always moving the water
with the power of a heartbeat
inconsequential waves
infinitesimal ripples
we are so small
but so powerful
and i don’t know how that is.
sol Apr 2020
you smelled like
cheap leather,
and cigarettes.

no wonder i had
sol Apr 2020
i’ve begun to learn i change like the seasons.

in spring, i come awake in the thaw. water trickles from my skin, i can dance & laugh again. i am leaping, blooming like a flower after buried so long beneath the snow.

i breathe. i am free.

in summer heat i am feral and alive. shining under bright sun i burn & my skin peels away in rivulets to reveal who i am meant to be. the sunflowers still turn to the sun, but their eyes are always watching me.

i create. i am peace.

in autumn i am cloaked in nostalgia laced melancholy. my leaves are shedding one by one in bright burst colour to blanket the Earth. fire laced borealis preparing for the freeze.

i release. i am bare.

in winter, the cold comes, and i break. my skin cracks open like sorrow & i bleed. covered over with snow, concealed, hidden, lost in subzero. isolated behind ice my eyes turn blind. i know myself no longer.

i cannot hibernate with no home.
i am hollow.

the groundhog sees his shadow. the sun shines on me no more. i am dim, faded, hidden behind glassy eyes.

i will warm again.
but when?

breath turns to frost in my lungs, to flower petals, sand, leaves. i choke & ***** all that i had been, have become.

i begin from where i began, again.
i am changed.
sol Apr 2020
i’m trying to write, right
write right what has been wrong
i lost myself in breakdown
retrograde spinning backwards dizzily
can’t remember who i am, who i was
or who i’m meant to be.
i need a hand to hold, as you held mine
and tried to remind me,
i’m here, i’m complete.
but words ring empty when
i still feel so hollow, i scooped myself out.
am i dissociating? a persistent occurrence
for weeks four weeks.
i take the medication and feel separate
from myself but when i don’t i am myself.
i hate myself.
i wish there were a medicine that could
make me love myself.

i want to clean out my closet
all the clothes that don’t fit,
never have never will.
all the skins of myself i hang up,
too tight, too loose, too wrong never right.
i’m tired.
i know i’d miss myself,
a self i never was and i’m sorry
i gave you the impression i was different,
and worth understanding,
when i don’t understand myself
hardly at all any of the time.
i just want to know why
where i went and will i come back,
like dad who left for milk and cigarettes.
i want to move away,
forget everything and start again
where nobody knows my name, who i am.
i’m so sad.
i’m sorry i’m not myself,
i wish i could be, for you,
for me, too.
i’m tired of searching.
this constant skin shifting itching
like a rash i scrape at myself
only to make it worse
and i just have to learn
to let sleeping dogs lie,
and let the caged bird fly.
i want to come home. i want to belong
within myself,
but i’ve never felt so out of place.
i think it’s time to take my medication.
i’ll see you someday, wherever i went.
feb 2020
sol Apr 2020
the moon looks like cheshire’s smile tonight
i think i’ll go by myself next time
just to unwind myself, alright
i’m tightly bound like a thousand page
my spine creaks every time you turn me.

my favourite time of day is when the sun speaks
i can’t think thru moon whisperings
cards of illusion murmur to me
what they mean
i am the false reality.

every moment i spend with you is like
ten tabs i can’t take back
i’m trying to make sense of what is
right before me but i can’t see
anything, i can’t feel anything.
the streetlights of highway streak my vision
i have a billboard headache and
this isn’t a street race we’re not fighting for relevancy.
sol Apr 2020
An unstable corona
glazed with astonishment
intricate flows of power
racing at the speed
of light
silently into the aether.
a continuous,
stream of awareness.

hidden messages from
the corners of the
time as relative.
quantify this
immaterial bliss
enveloped in consciousness.

dreams are one with
form, froth on
effervescent liquor of
image and desire
and cognition and emotion.

no sustenance.
blood let, bleed out,
husk of brood being
the Weaver of
all that is not.

a universe
in tanglement,
trapped asphyxiation
from nothing,
a big bang beginning
at the end.

what is left?
sol Apr 2020
i think i miss you too much
as if i forget this love is fleeting
as all are with me.
and it doesn’t matter how much you promise,
because i know what will happen
as it always has.

i struggle with the fine line
between yours and mine.
and i will never stop apologising,
i’m sorry.
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