IV. postnatal
ut consilium...repris


things are looking up when
you look in the mirror and you don’t scare yourself
recognise the person you see there
arrive before you leave
stay the course
take people at face value
can meet with friends
laugh
turn your face forward and there is no crick in your neck
your muscles ache
because you worked hard
get used to this
you want this to be your new normal
see a future even if it is just tomorrow
yes, hopeful...repris

@journeyofdays

It is dark and damp
in the alley under your window.
My dreaming is so quiet,
and my body so still,
that a man relieved himself,
unaware, on my paradise.

You may be sleeping,
or reading,
or gaming,
but my thoughts aren't on the you above.
I'm sometime else.

At this point, in this place,
we start and end journeys.

I see us
walking hand in hand
that first night
and all the nights.

I see me
bringing soup when you are sick,
scribbling love letters in the cold,
hiding gifts before you appear,
and yes...crying here too.

I see you
stopping and turning at your doorstep,
smiling and brushing your lips on my forehead,
and a thousand times I am whole.

Please don't come outside.
Don't put down your iPad
or walk downstairs.
I won't be able to explain my tears,

and

*I never want to make the memory
of your not wanting me here.

Like an OCD psychologist,
I analyzed my behavior
breaking everything down
digging to the roots
the core emotions that I felt:
insecurity, fear of being hurt.

I laid out the physical and verbal
dialogue of my body and words,
highlighting those that reflected
that pain and turmoil inside.

If insecurity was blue and fear
of being hurt purple, well...
that hidden dialogue was striped
much like the Cheshire cat
invisible behind a nodding head,
wide grin and endless laughter.

If you studied your own actions
studying every move like a
hunter on the prowl, patient
what would be your true colors?

step one* // live in denial for most of your life. tuck yourself into closets and cupboards and slow-cooking pots of rice until all you have left to offer her is your warming breath

step two // warm her hands with your breath. tell her she's worth more than *that guy, than the number on the scale, than her grades, than anything in the world

step three // don't think about kissing her when her lips are bitten with worry. don't think about kissing her when you're tired and it's two a.m. and god, she looks so beautiful today. don't kiss her. don't kiss her

step four // let your breaths fill the closets again. you are eternal, you are infinite, you are alone, but you still have her

step five // write her a poem. metaphorize your heart of glass. verbally trace her hipbones. tell her she is a constellation.

step six // "accidentally" give her the poem. laugh it off when she says that poetry's not her thing, anyway.

step seven // only cry when you are alone.

step eight // bare your skeletons to her unflinching mouth. it's cold and dark where she comes from, too

step nine // when she tells you she loves you, let her. hold onto her tight enough to shatter your ribcage.

step ten // let her tear the breath from your lungs-it's all you had left, anyway.

"All in all is all we are."
Is the sum of the pieces
greater than the whole
or are we just our experiences
mixed with a little DNA
all of it piling up inside of us
like boxes from an abandoned home.
Genetics mixed with luck
some grand
Cosmic joke.
or even an accident
OOPS
of some selfish god.

When I was little; I found a silver pin inside a fallen crows nest. My mother told me that it was there because crows adore shiney things. That fall morning when I rode the bus to school I saw at least 30 crows bickering atop the wall. But then they spotted you. As you waltzed out of the door they snapped to attention and stared as you stepped.

You see crows like shiney things. They recognized what I did not and that was; You are a supernova. Your blinding incandescence was incomparable and i missed it. I did not realise until it was three years later and you sat next to me eating your lunch and working on your poems. The way your words flew across the page like the way the ocean ebbs and flows was more than one man with two hands could handle.

You made me realise how to let go of my words. How my syllabic soldiers could not succeed unless they were given freedom. Thank you. I'll remember you.