You see the link of all things
The connection
Between us and them
And everything else
How the flowers of life are in every shape and space
And how the ceaseless spirals
Make us end up in the same place
The stones speak to you
They move through you
With tiny waves and quiet murmurs
Why can't I hear them
When they share their carbon force with you
You see sound move sand
With each frequency shifting every grain to it's will,
while I've laid dormant in my shell
and watched my cells die and feel my bones bend
But you've died a thousand tiny deaths
With each one blurring the veil
And opening that furrowed brow
That sees the link in all things

4 and a half years later,

I still find traces of you

On my body
In my mind

And not in the good way

The way

I flinch from raised hands
Tight grips
Or sharp words

The way

I question my self worth

The way

I don’t say stop when it’s not
okay
Or stay
Still for too long

The way

So here’s to hoping they’re almost
gone

As I’ve been unwinding these patterns for 4 and a half **** years

Surely,

The time it took to learn them
is proportional to how long it will take to rid them from my brain

Surely,

-wishful thinking

You ask me if I’ve tasted defeat
no
I’ve swallowed it whole and the digestion resulted in apprehension to any path I can’t crawl my way through

It’s ironic
the brain travels three thousand miles per minute
even as the body sits as still as Ice Age mountains
so my solution is to taste victory on golden platters in a dream sequence
the pattern is seamless
I’ve learned about suffering but would never teach it
A man like me could never lead, despite the absence of light that follows

but enough about aorta chambers left hollow, tell me of your timeline
what have you tasted
what has life left in your wallet
in your bed side
in your lungs
in your goodbyes
in your smiles
tell me what you know of reality and the singularity, our humble beginnings
tell me anything to distract me from the hours, the minutes, the seconds and every inch of my taste buds.

Please.

Patterns are like chains
I can’t break free
Or at least that’s the way
It seems to me

i have lain here
for nights on end
trying to make sense of the stars

mama never did teach
me how to read
the patterns in the skies,
what reason did i have
to look up
when the fairy lights
we hung
were so pretty
if i wanted constellations
i could take a pen
and map out the spots
on my skin

mama never did teach
me how to dream,
what need could there be
when hers were already
big enough for
the both of us
to share
i could look up
and count the stars
in her night skies
and never worry about
my own

mama never did teach
me how to walk
tall, keep my back up
straight, with her chin
raised high she
looked right past
my crooked posture
and in to
her future,
i stood straight
in her visions,
it was all she needed
to see

i think she gave it
her best
i think she gave her
self better
and i’m still trying to make
sense of the stars
unsure of whose they are
anymore