I want to cure the grievances of my heart.
But it feels like a Rubik’s cube with the stickers peeled off.
A disfigured puzzle guided by my shifting uncoherent thoughts.
Last year feels like a different life.
Maybe a past one or a parallel reality.
A life in which we were here, but never enough to know it.
Same artist but different album.
This year finally gave sound to melancholy.
A song I’ll never remember the words to, but the beat permeates forever in my heart.
Here we all dance silently to the same blues.
Feet sway with your sorrow.
There is no wrong step in weeping.
Take one breath and breathe it into the life taken away.
Let your sadness be every guest in the ballroom.
I hope my thoughts fill my journal’s paper as effortlessly as an artist’s paint strokes fills their canvas.
As if their expression of the heart was just muscle memory.
I want my words to fill the edges of my paper because they have taken all my head space.
Scribbling the words off the edges of the paper to be etched in the desk & forever out of my memory.
I wish the words may begin to fill the gaps of my emotions.
& I keep writing my own story over and over and over again.
In hopes that if I write it enough times the end will arrive differently.
Cause the years taught me that life can make you bitter as the grapes that fill your inner vine.
& Unlike wine I have learned people don’t always get better with time.
So, I write, and write, and write until all my grief becomes blessing.
A questionnaire of my family history is only a monologue I tell myself.
Practicing in front of the mirror to get better.
So, the next time the doctor’s words I am sorry falls back into their lips.
& I am onto my feet.
Tears in the ducts like my mind that encapsulates my emotions.
A vapid, monologue screenplay.
The rehearsed version of my life.
Somehow always fumbling through the words.
Answering the questions.
Yet leaving voids in my answers as my family’s members absence did.
Two strokes. She’s alive but not apparent enough to know it.
Her blood runs to thick.
Blood pressure always boiling.
Mother knew how to live fast but never well enough.
Dead. He was alive but never long enough to hold it.
Heart always dropping and head into the palms of his hands.
Thirst never stopping.
Alcoholism is a wicked thing I say.
Brother. Alive somehow not present enough to count it.
Healthy. We count his days as tick-tack-toe though.
Family history has a lineage that says the roots in this family tree are rotten.
Sister. Victim to mental health.
The prodigy of a broken foster system.
I reckon her days are counted in lines.
Between days she’s alive & the days she wishes she wasn’t.
The doctor does an homage in the way she bows her head.
Makes the hollowed-out chest of mine seem like it’s filled with water.
I let out a gasp.
Trying to fill the room where all the air has seemed to have evaporated.
Hoping to catch my breath.
My story filling their break room like a lingering coffee smell.
Keeping them brewed in satisfaction that it could always be worse.
My story always seemed like the punch line for better days.
Our family has been waiting since genesis for such.
These are the days I wish I believed in something.
A god to drown every nightfall with dawn.
family sickness death grief history health wellness doctor god
what was it you saw in her?
so fast, when you claimed to love me?
how could it have been so deep
that you forgot what we had instantly?
you saw her for seconds,
Talked to her for minutes,
then by some strange justification decided
You Loved Her.
I don’t know if it was partly my fault,
pushing you away, but I only pushed you away because I knew how we’d end.
I’ve seen it before, and will see it again.
no loss for you, no heart, no law,
No light breaks through my window anymore.
when I look at old pictures of you,
I cant remember you.
I cant remember
what used to look like
or what your face would look like now if it was looking back at me.
Because when I see you,
I see the sadness.
The sadness that I feel
without your presence
and the sadnes
that took you away from me.
I see the life you lived
that many times I couldn't be a part of.
I see the silence
that housed your suffering,
but also the joy that you gave
to every person that has passed through you.
I see the empty chair on my wedding day
and the vacant arms around my children.
I see myself reaching for you
and crying your name when I'm alone and forgotten.
So when I look at you,
I dont see your face.
I dont see your gray hairs
or brown eyes or fake smile.
I see your past,
and my future
and everything in between
and I miss it.
I miss you.
I tug on your arm,
You don’t turn around anymore.
do you remember when we went to the mountains?
yeah, it was an awful trip, and nothing went right
at the end, when it was over, do you remember?
we were packing up our desert igloo to leave it all behind us
you were coordinating our friends loading the truck
it was so stressful, and everyone was tired and cranky
the trip did not go how anyone wanted
I was getting more and more frustrated and you could tell
you came over and asked me what I needed
this is where it gets good, do you remember?
I looked up at you and I could not find the words
I was so overwhelmed; I did not know what I needed
so, you just hugged me
it was exactly what I needed
perfect, safe, home
I looked up to thank you and then
I saw you. for the first time in a while, I saw you.
did you feel the change? do you remember?
Hope you are well <3
I’m a ghost,
peering at my physical body down below—
there but not really there
I’m a stranger
looking on the burning world
with cold, unseeing eyes
I’m the haze, the curtain
veiling the living and the dead
It is not your fault.
You only know that,
it is in your nature to
like the back of your hand
as you administer it
children, little girls
are to be docile dolls
in which resentment can be
hidden under the dress
that's the perfect color
in the tulle, we twirl
and do this dance
it is but, fate's job
for the strings to be cut
The puppeteer, songstress must go down. Her children
to be reborn as the next soprano.
You have ached and
your agony was ignored
so you demonstrated it
you sang with the voice
of the unheard
and somewhere, perhaps,
like the phantom you are
when we both sing, it is the same song
and our throats warble at the same time
our voices are capable of more love
then we were for each other
Mother and daughter
living the same dream
But I know it so well in life
like a note that never ends
it wells up in my mouth
catching my tongue
and I have lost my voice
I hope that you carry it with you now
as if to be the fragment chosen
that gave your love meaning
and this song comes to its' ending
I'm really sad.