What matters matters
it doesn’t matter
that there are so many things
and people that do
including you…

and me.

Did your body not warn you
before you were wrung dry?

The day you found yourself depleted,
the nights that lead upto it became fragile,
your cell heavy as they were heaved onto the bed.

Did you not listen to your body,
when you woke up with a heavy chest
and your body begged you to sleep?

Did you not acknowledge your heart
when it had become
a black hole the night before
as it ****** you out in.
Your bones like gravestones
prominent among the barren skin.

Did the suffocating dark matter
not ring louder
as you gasped for air with burnt lungs.

When you stood there overworked,
with signals mixed and sensitive
rewired and tangled
did the response fit their norm of you?

Did your voice not thud,
with the lump in your throat?
Did your heart not pound
against your ribcage,
your stomach not curdle
with that war in your chest,
as your mind raced
and your chest pressured as you tried
to clutch that breath?

Did your hormones
not muddle with your thoughts?
Did they not drown them in depths
and set them on fire all at once?
Did it not ache your muscles
before it all turned red?

Did your body not scream
when they came near?
Your feet cemented,
as your body froze?
Did your gut not twist
till you felt nauseous?

Did your toes not curl
when the feeling sunk
through your spine,
sat in your bones
like an unwanted guest,
and you like an unwilling host?

Did you not feel the chill
shiver down your spine
as terror spread across your face
and painted it white
before the quake came?

Did you not acknowledge
your body is the vessel
that you kept giving and pushing
depleting it of the right to rest
rather than opening
it to the abundance of love
it was surrounded by.

Your body became over extended,
your mind became forgetful
a body that is now a red flag;
travesty.

Dust, just dust, with a sad or smiling face,
That successful dust who learned to mimic life's pace,
The dust on the outside is sleeping rough and is alone,
While the dust seen through the window has a family and a home.

Sometimes this dust can create and conjure beauty,
And other times it will destroy in the name of fear or duty,
I know some dust who keeps their grace hidden under floorboards,
I know some other dust who sings out their grace with compassionate chords.

I have seen a swirling dust who keeps in perfect time with the breeze,
I have also seen a static dust who refused nature's offering of ease,
Often I see dust succumb to time's hypnosis and monotony,
But occasionally, I see dust be brave and break the silence with a symphony.

Dust, just dust, it is the beginning of me,
From dust were you made and it is our actuality,
The wonder of the world is at the mercy of this fine matter,
We are walking, breathing, dancing dust, we'll paint the glass and watch it shatter.

I like my Dark
Especially when it's
On Fire

Ice is water
And too smooth
For my satisfaction

I don't need a breeze
Or a tree
Or to find me

I'm okay with me
And accept all of my
Flaws behavior
And the abscence
Of my positivity

I can create in the dark
With spells and bountiful PEACE