I am ready
to ring your rib around my wrist in triumph— the faintest of relics enliven me. My lips still layered as in the night you lost them. I hope to hammer your heart & stuff its soil in the sutures of your skull; I want to call that the shadow to kintsugi; I want our memories never to seep; to set them up for decryption. Unloving is a study— consider an archaeologist’s tentative hands demystifying an artifact once treasured for its secret & leaving no spots behind.
written after Kevin Young’s poem on the same title
i wish the world was still an adventure
step through the portal, in search of new worlds to make fresh memories with old friends now i stare at the treasures ive collected over the years rusted and broken, clockwork falling apart, blade dull legacy of once glorious days.
i miss you, and the life we created together
Flicker, flicker to the patter of the rain
So fragile, desperate to live, the tiny little flame Long shadows cast onto the stone wall behind Lighting up the writings, the words on the walls Describing the anthem of a nation forgotten Sole legacy of once glorious days
i d o n t k n o w w h a t i m d o i n g h e l p
the rhyming was not intentional i mean i just realized when publishing it **** l'manburg-
Observe a masterpiece the lonely relic
foreshadowing judgment eclipsed despair. Hanging disappointed, art held ransom, childish tantrum freely shared. Refrain, restrain, what some condemn, reluctance alleviates anxiety gained. A musical symphony, poetic warfare, so let me gently remind you, friend; Even at last gasping breath I am fiercely lethal with my creative pen.
You can hear them if you listen
When the wind blows in the night The people who once lived here Who are gone now, out of sight The buildings, many shuttered Housed ten thousand at it's peak Now empty, vacant, skeltons Once vibrant, now, so bleak Silver once was mined nearby Thousands flocked here for the chance To strike it rich, be wealthy Uninvited to the dance For all that comes with promise The devil comes as well With money comes temptations As the small town starts to swell Business and homesteads Spring up where once was none Lawlessness is rampant The law is by the gun Saloons, hotels, and harlots Soapbox preachers, grab your purse We all cannot be winners That is just the boom towns curse Like a zephyr in the desert A boom town changes in a flash Prosperity will vanish And so does all the cash The boom town dies as quickly As a flower in the snow Scattered now back homeward With nothing left to show The earth takes all she's given The buildings may still stand But, the mines are all now empty There's no value to this land Listen to the voices The wind let's them sing out You can hear them in the darkness That's when the locals all come out A ghost town is a relic It shows the best and worst of man So, listen to the wind now Hear their stories if you can
who'll hold your memories
recite them like a fabled story a land where you held hands leaving a long trail under infinite sky? who'll hold your urn enshrine it as a priceless relic when you exile far far away where heaven is called a home ?
Finding stolen jackets in my room
catches me off-guard "Oh! hello cozy reminder of the boy that toyed with my heart. I forgot I stuffed you in this corner of my drawer..." I don't want them, really. But I can't bring myself to throw them away. Or give them back. I know I should keep them. These were priceless at one point; they feel like intruders in my life now. But sometimes it snows. Then I can see the warmth those reminders once provided. I pull on layers of memories to have a snowball fight with my sisters. I reuse. I reframe. Which is all we can do With relics of our pain. We apply what we've learned, From pain, to our lives; We wear these lessons Like jackets. We grow. Pain is only a teacher that can aid us now if we let it.
Writing this helped me understand why I hang on to things that hurt.