Don’t write me poetry

It’s never worked before
Vanity, all of it, vanity
And I don’t want any
More-words, just-words, nothing-but words

I don’t care for
The structure
The way
It is so easy to steal
Phrases
lines
Automatic sigh-bringers
Used a thousand times
By history’s pen and
Those more worthy to hold it
than you

All you did
Was take the bag
Of scrabble tiles
Rattling and clacking together
And shake
Once
Twice
Thrice
Forced
Farce
Until you were satisfied with what it gave

And you threw away the rest

That’s not art
That’s strategy

It’s too neat
Neat like summer
Neat like children’s books
(not the good ones)
Formula following
Empty and hollow-ringing

Give me something real
Instead
Give me the ramblings, twisting
wanderings of your mind
give me the dark places
the secrets
the mysteries that lurk in the depths
like sea dragons
like the ocean itself
there is so much more
so much wilder and deeper

so
grab my hand and pull me in with you
don’t flatter me while dipping our toes
because why
why would we choose the ship
the safe little dingy
bleached wood, branded logo on the side
when underneath
lies atlantis
and
the depths

Dear Younger Me.

The days ahead are dark.

There will be points
Where you will close your eyes
Burning, stinging, tear-torn eyes
And it will look no brighter
When you open them again.
You will reach for the light switch
Only to discover
The dual bulbs
Clustered under the shade
Are doing all they can already.
You will walk upstairs
In the witching hour
The dark scary still hour
And even though there is nothing
Nothing logical to fear
The still scary, dark hour
And the night will surround you
Press in on you
And you’ll swear each step is a mouth
Waiting to swallow you alive.
You will leap from light switch to light switch
Because the dark
The cursed, smothering dark
Is a fate worse
Than sinking into a molten floor.


Dear Younger Me.

The darkness does not win. Not against the light.
Remember that.

Even if you, yourself, don’t feel light.
Even when you feel bogged down
Like the weight of a thousand worlds
Rests on your shoulders
And you’re slogging through swamp mud, besides.
There is light, and hope, and peace
Peace like none you have ever known
Waiting on the other side.
And if I could spare you the tears
The ache that tears your chest inside out
The lump that threatens to stay
Choking you
Breath by breath
Forever
If I could spare you that
You would never grow.
You would never become me.
Broken. Imperfect. Beautiful.
Stronger, holding tight to the Savior’s hand.
I wouldn’t trade all the stars to be you again, me.
But someday you’ll get here. April 2018.
You’ll write a poem. Me to you. Heart to heart.
You’ll look around. You’ll look back.
And there will be light again.

Reflections are tricky things
Man didn't create them
Only trapped them
Hung them on a wall for his own vain glory
The glassy stillness of a lake
Was first
To echo reality above it
Distorted
It ripples like a gateway
At the kiss of a stone

It calls, it beckons
l have mystery lurking
What will happen if you
Little you
Dared to pass through
With no intention of return?
One might find oneself upside down
Standing in the sky
And brushing their feet against the stars
Or there might be monsters
Real ones
Which we can touch and feel and fight
And see while fighting
The seeds of monstrous things
Separate themselves from us
In the last few seconds of life
And we see them laid out

Even knowing this
The water calls
To the nine tenths of us it possesses
Enticing us
With the idea of a world
Identical to ours
I think
Have you ever stopped
Looked
Counted the branches?
It would be impossible
So we assume

And as the water accepts you
Feet
Waist
Hands
Shoulders
Hair, drifting like seaweed in the tide
It whispers to you
Just a little deeper now
So you go on
On
Until you discover, or drown

Or
Until you are pulled upwards
Arms grasping you around the chest
As your lungs burn with the ache of tipped scales, the balance within you lost
And you hear the voice whisper
Breath warming your ear

Not like this
My friend
Not like this

The hardest thing
In life
Is not to.

(specifically)

Not to find someone else
To occupy the space in my life
That you left

(when you left)

I did
I think
But it's been years
Years
Years
When I was not

And I don't remember
quite
What being well
is like

I mean
I mean
I am always well
I am
Always moving
Because an object at rest-

I've said this already

So I'll rest when I'm dead
Or I'll die when I rest
And I'm not ready
yet
I haven't made my mark
yet
I haven't swelled my voice
With the chorus of those
who came before me
yet
I haven't heard that note
One note
In a symphony
The glorious harmony
I
Haven't drawn a breath
and
Heard the empty space
and
Felt the sharp ***** of awe
That the gap
Is for me to fill
Little me
Little
Gap

And that
I think
Holds me here
Roots my feet to the ground
To Earth
Because humans
Are delicate
It would not take so much
To flee this mortal form
But
I am not ready
It is not my time
I am secure
Knowing my days are numbered
Measured out
By One
Who does not lose count
Lose thought
Think
All in the wrong order
At all the times
Which are
Most inopportune

It is my greatest honor
It is my greatest humbling

And anyways
I am well
Well enough to sing
To dance
Well enough for joy
To light its fire
Bursting pyrotechnics
In my chest

Except
Of course
When I am not
Not when my thoughts
Take the wheel
And I am caught in loops
Loops
Loops

"Shape without form
Shade without color"
I drift
In monochromatic waves
Clinging to the memory
And hope of hues
Beyond my mind's walls
I drift
In soft piano melodies
And synesthesia winds my senses
In a great tangle
Melancholy tastes like apple
But un-achored
Only smells like dust
Looping and twirling in the breeze
Over the ocean
Invisible
Under the too-wide sky
Over the too-bright sea

Until it hits city
And the city
Brings it back down
Tears it into a million
Tiny
Fragments

They used to be it
They used to be whole
They were once
But now
Not

And just like that
The conclusion
Brings me down
With a jolt and a bump and a thud
Like a plane
Or the clanking chains
Of a rollarcoaster

My stomach is doing rollarcoaster loops
Loops
Loops
I used to be well-
(i've said that too)
-But sometimes
I am well
Now
And I forget
That with a breath
I can be
Not

It is terrifying
But I am not scared
You know
Part of life
Is living it