"dyspnea" poems
He gives me a premature ventricular contraction –
Simply referring to inefficient blood circulation –
Causing my heart to skip a beat on every occasion.
Ever so often thereafter, he performs a cardiectomy –
In other words, a surgical removal of the heart – on me
Through which my precious heart is stolen by my Timmy.
I still experience dyspnea – difficulty in breathing –
And my breath is taken away by he who is my Spring,
My one and only significant other and my everything.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
I feel estranged every now and then.
I been trying for months to explain, my lack of, conviction.
Half-hearted attempts to force something pleasing.
The only thing I'm sure of these days
Is that I'm not sure about much of anything.
What was meant to last eternity
A star's sparkling mystery, always shrouded in dark
Instead it all came crashing down in the beauty of a shooting star
Wishes are no different than secrets in this sense
We all have them, and tell no one
Keep them tucked underneath our pain
A journal entry's page kept safe through memory
I want to be the Nothing's you whisper
In the ear of your lover
To dance along the strings of your heart
A romantic arrhythmia played in perfect time
Pausing for a brief moment
Of enthralled dyspnea
Some might call it foolish, but they are right...
For all the wrong reasons.
To be brave, you must be a fool
Looking at your fate with sunken eyes, stoic
Yet, you push forward, no this is not an escape
This is acceptance in its purest form
The difference between courage and a coward is distraction and denial
Why run from the inevitable?
I'm not inviting him in, but I will acknowledge the existence.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 2:04 AM UTC
i hold my breath as i read through
i hold my breath as i always do
whenever there’s something
something about you
that comes out of the back of my mind
out from where i left you behind
It’s a pity how it all goes to waste
a day or two, a month or two
then i’m back crying because i miss you
this histrionic mind of mine is a wreck
for more than 5 years i’ve been wanting you back
i let you go, i set you free
she let you go, she set you free
is it really fated?
this fantasy of you and me?
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 2:43 AM UTC
He gives me a premature ventricular contraction,
simply referring to inefficient blood circulation.
Causing my heart to skip a beat on every occasion.
Ever so often thereafter, he performs a cardiectomy –
In other words, a surgical removal of the heart, on me.
Through, which my precious heart is stolen by my Baby.
I still experience dyspnea – difficulty in breathing,
and my breath is taken away by he who is my Spring,
My one and only significant other and my everything.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 3:48 PM UTC
I sit often in my bed,
wishing for inspiration to melt its way from my heart
into my fingertips
which click against the keys on this machine
to form words that get jumbled in my brain,
that I may untangle their knots
and loosen their grip
just enough that the ache in my forehead subsides,
and the weight on my chest is lifted even a little.
Most of the time,
whatever reactions are supposed to happen in me,
whatever connections are supposed to form
don’t,
and I continue to ache until the numbness sets in.
I handle emotions alone.
I don’t seek attention.
I don’t want the weakness.
I don’t reach out,
because I got sick of the sting
of each slap that shouldn’t have surprised me.
I love being alone;
In fact, I crave it,
but I miss the social sense of belonging that used to balance me out.
I want to grasp a hand that is stretched out to me
for a change,
but the air is always empty.
Even as I type this
I am running out of words that explicate
the cause of the dyspnea that overwhelms me
at abrupt, random moments,
and my ability to form lucid, complete thoughts
is lost.
How do you wipe a wound that isn’t even bleeding?
How do you heal a bone that isn’t even broken?
How to you fix a muscle that isn’t even torn?
I am not fragmented.
I am not cracked.
I am not damaged,
yet something in me is still leaking,
seeking something more.
I am not standing in the darkness;
I am just waiting for this sun to shed light
on a soul that knows
when to reach out
and when to let me be.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 10:31 PM UTC
I talk to you as though you're still here
in the room with me, watching me work
I tell you about all of the things you've missed:
my acceptance to grad school and thesis
how I've started watercolour painting
and learning Japanese
reading Rilke and writing poetry again
you would've loved that
and I tell you about grief and loss and death
how I should've stayed with you that day
I saw your heart shatter and break
you were gone just a week later
I had never seen anyone in so much pain
but when I held your hand and said I was there
I swear I felt you try to squeeze it back still
even through your dyspnea and delirium
I still see you, you know?
when I look in the mirror it's not my face
but yours looking back at me
and when I write they are not my words
but yours reflected back on the page
and sometimes, when I am quiet enough
I can hear your replies to me, too
and you talk to me, as though you're still here
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC