I saw it coming, The rickshaw was slowly halting And the driver wasn’t looking I shouted at him pointing my fingers towards the impending doom He twisted the handle of the bike, for nothing, we collided It was all too slow, I saw everything The distance between my arms and the concrete Being eaten up as the time ticked The merciless coarse surface of the road Lacerated by bare arm, on which I fell I didn’t feel a thing though
I picked myself up and looked at my friend, the driver He was still lying on the burning ground, groaning His white cotton clothes tangled up in the bike, obliterated I stood with nothing in my head until the wound swelled up, sizzling
I wrapped my bleeding arm under rim of my yellow shirt And walked towards the third of us, he was silent We stood on the hem of the road, watching men picking him up I studied his body from his head to his toes Dreading flesh spurting out or skin-piercing bones But I only saw bruises, wounds and his face full of fear Not of death but of disappointment from us We laughed after the pain peaked and plateaued I wish I could tell him the it was my fault Because I saw it all coming Before we were even on the road
It’s a new year and I quit my job **** it, I’ll never be good at serving Directionless in 2013 January. It’s unusually warm.
Your presence in the room is a rock in my shoe You’re so cool And I’m a mess. Remember, you called me Heather in bed? And I made you go home? Well. I forget.
Now we’re crossing the street For your birthday, it’s your birthday, Makers Mark, count ‘em, 2 ounces at a time. Stacked up like unread texts and why don’t you like me’s I don’t remember But I’m probably crying
Flash in to outside God it’s like 60 Deciding to go with you Asking you to kiss me
(I had a long term boyfriend in my 20s And his mother would buy me toilet paper for Christmas The gift of hindsight is kind of like that: Practical and helpful and a ****** of a gift)
Today is 9 years to the day My parents know and they’re on their way The nurse thinks I might be paralyzed 11 broken bones and two black eyes
This is the end of the beginning Which is the easy part I’ve never been able to write it all down Spin it into art
Be warned, I can’t guarantee poetry From a patched-but-still-leaking heart.
Part one of a multi (tbd) part series detailing the drunk driving accident that derailed my life in 2013 and the convoluted and ongoing recovery process.
I have attempted to process this event through a whole swath of creative means, never very successfully. It eludes me. I humbly request patience, as this is a healing exercise. Thank you so much, and may you find peace where it grows.
Last summer our days sped by us like Faris wheel highs swept beneath sidewalk alleyways. We traveled the world in our little neighborhood of dreams; a hand to hold so close yet miles away in words. We found the best out of emptiness, heartening our comfortable silence.
We found each other on accident two summers ago from June, hopscotched in one-night walks on a bus going nowhere fast. By then, we barely knew how far the universe would take us in a matter of months. Now, all I can think about is how to comprise your heart flutter the same way your smile and cosmos composed mine.
It's has been a hell of a ride Goes a lot of downshift Love ones bid forever goodbyes Had to let go of things I wanna stay Accident that almost took my life Never ending stress and anxieties Nightmare after nightmares Hell no you can't make it they said But here I am... Hell yeah still fighting
I inhale forgiveness. And exhale all my vengeance. Like taking a word from my right ear, And throwing it out from the other It hurts to say this: Saying "Marhaba" to misfortune with warm hugs Know why I do this? I wait for serendipity To surprise me with a confetti of lilies. I'll fly with each petal... But, Why do I forget that there's always a purpose behind an accident?