over coffee
telling this story
      i do this for myself
i write them out of my story
but telling it with all their pieces snipped out feels unedged
like a lost point
so i write them back in
capture more of what is to be said
to salvage this story, to salvage my story
they are the antagonists in this version
and i hyper-fixate on all the bad
so i end up crying in the middle of this story
and telling it does not feel that much better
when i wake up with pity cornering me against the wall
and she is not motherly, and she is not sweet
she gets me to curl into a ball and not leave my room for a week

but i tell pity off once i find my strength
and i tell rose-coloured glasses off too
to tell them both, that i am facing my reality
yes this is my reality
would you like another coffee while i tell version two?
the version where i am trying, and they are trying, and we are good in our fullest of good intentions, in our fullest of tried and true ways

not in what we did, or who we were, or how we behaved, or how we made it seem, or how it really seemed but wasn't.

everything is different
sad
nothing is where i left it
the corners of my head feel rummaged
the drawers containing all
the things i used to reminisce about
emptied


nothing is where i planted it
my old thoughts, where are they now?
my old feelings?
where did they go?
i've come to reap what i used to sow

i meet her eyes glaring in moonlight glow
if my life was a broken car i knew her to be its tow

savior status, writer hiatus

i hear her tongue click
before
she chucks me a brick
right through the windows of my old house

the windows shatter
the voice in me begins to scatter

she swears to me then that my old thoughts were weeds in my head
so we ripped them all out for you
she said

we ripped them all

out
for you


i almost had nothing to say. i could not defend the person i used to be. i could not defend her because she stole her from me so stealthily i hardly remember her. she was suffocated in herself but at least she felt somewhat an iota of self. and today i am her ghost town.

today i am drifting in the empty drawers, today i am drifting in the windowless house, today i am making no sense, today i am making cents, today i am who i am.

i trust her enough to keep going. so i do

before the hinges of the doors that I built
    to block naught else but
     all else
loosened

i thought of sturdiness and i felt its bliss
but weren't, they weren't, weren't, they weren't

in the come of a whisper
arrived in darkness, no wind to tell the direction
a good sound carrier to me
or a benevolent earsore

come sound warn to watch
as door hinge slid in and gave all out
and all  panic   that  what thought let subside
except  a foreign trust
well hold this foreign trust I have no familiar trust
let defense begin  let offense ******


but sustenance and fragile beginning
soft creak creep
like novice
chimney sweep
as dulled threat lay awaiting
in alternate entry
in wind rolling
in snow freezing
but staying all the same

at times I want to thank paper
for her good listening skills
and other days
i want to tear her up
for letting me talk like this

‪SHE GOES AHEAD, TELLS ME SHE DOESNT HATE ME SO I STAND THERE KNEES BUCKLING WISHING I COULD SOMEHOW FACT CHECK EVERY WORD SHE SAYS‬

‪SHE GOES AHEAD AND BRUSHES THE ‬SOLITUDE RIGHT OUT OF MY CHEST HERE SHE IS BREATHING WORDS INTO MY EAR TELLING ME WHAT SOUNDS LIKE MY SLOW REVIVAL.

I AM FILLED WITH IT AND FOR ONCE THE IT BEARS NO GRINCH TO MY HEART'S FLIGHT
DOESNT PROMISE ME AN END TO PAIN BUT PROMISES ME AN END WITHOUT PAIN

SHE GOES AHEAD AND TELLS ME I CAN SEE HER AGAIN AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE IN THE BOOK OF ALL THE STORIES I USED TO TELL MYSELF

SWEAR TO ME I AM PRAYING FOR ME
I AM PRAYING FOR YOU SHE IS BELTING
PANTING
CAPPING ALL THE MORE

I MAKE EYE CONTACT SHE TAKES MY HAND AND LEADS ME TO THE MIDDLE GROUND SHE SAYS HERE THERE ARE NO FIGHTERS HERE THERE IS NO WAR

I FEEL HER STEPS IN MY OWN

HERE I AM GROWN
A PLANT WITH HER WATER, A TREE WITH HER ROOTS