Scent

I can't get the smell of you off of me.

The thing I used to love,
Crave.
Stuck, clawing to my hair and skin.

I showered twice when I got home;
After I threw up.
Yet it lingers.

I've been trying to scrub you off for months now.
Feeling like I can finally breathe,
Without catching you:
Your hair,
Body,
Clothes,
Skin,
Lurking around every corner.

But today,
You were back.
Without warning.

And now I'm once again tortured,
By the scent of you.

Uglier

My toes are uglier without you
and my knees.

I've never felt more beautiful
than when you looked at me.

And now that you refuse to look,
each piece of me is uglier.

Disfigured to my own eyes.
I was beautiful because you believed me to be.

Lost You Both

Today 
After we walked away,
I wanted to call you. 
And say,

I finally met up with him,
But it was awkward
And tense

And he didn't interact with me
Like he wanted me there.

And you would have laughed
At my awkward stories
And how I felt so wrong

But I can't call you
About you.
My person.
No longer mine.

So instead I will sit on the train
Alone
And cry.

Having lost a lover,
And a friend
All at once.

You twist the knife

watch me bleed

and walk away.

Indifferent.

Functioning

"How are you even functioning?" She asked

The truth is I'm not

I no longer know how to breathe.
Every moment I am holding back tears
and sometimes
they win.

Yesterday they beat me twice,
in a place where I never cry.
A place where I am strongest.
No one knew what to do.

"It's fine! Calm down..."
But I couldn't.

So I hyperventilated in a stairwell.
While a businessman talked on his phone,
unbothered.

And then I returned.
And fought.
And refused to quit.

I am nothing if not stubborn.
This is how I am functioning.

Lemon Seabass

In my 20s the thought of loneliness 
was unbearable.

But here I sit at 32,
alone in so many ways,
content in eating in silence.

Seabass in a lemon sauce
my only company at the table.

Sisyphus

Here I am,
Sisyphus,

believing I've almost reached the top.

Boulder as heavy

as the time before.

And though I tire,

I do not quit.

This time,

I thought, 

this time I would make it.

Almost at the precipice,

when the boulder began, once again, to fall

crushing me in the process.

Broken,

I return to the bottom

and begin to push.

Hopeless,

but, no...

...hopeful enough,

to try again.

Vices

I use up my joy by giving it away.

Handing energy out to people

who have none to give back.

Hoping they keep it for a little while. 

Too many people prefer me sad.

When I'm happy,

really happy,

I dive full force into the world.

Unashamed,

Unafraid.

It frightens people,

that level of joy.

They would rather me be smaller,

more contained.

I don't want these virtues.

They've never done me any good.

Humility,

Selflessness,

Self-control.

Take them back.

Give me a pride that won't be tamed.

Let me take what I want with abandon.

Open the cage door, set me free.

But oh,

they won't like me that way.

Too much,

too loud,

too bright.

They'll try to shove me back down.

As they have before.

Well,

f*** you all,

I'm done with virtue.

Let's see how these vices play. 

Days on my Mind

On the days
when I am a clear mind;

Like the view from the mountains
to the sea
from the hill behind
my grandparents house;

I can see a way to exist.
To move forward with joy
and love,
even with all that has been lost.

Other days 
when my mind is a cloud;

Like the day I could not see
my parents balcony across the way,
hidden by suffocating smog
not a storm, but pollution;

All I see is darkness.
Trapped by expectations
and past beliefs,
unable to find my way forward.

Today,
my mind is empty, blank;

Like I am awaiting a telescope
to find the galaxies,
hidden billions of years deep
inside my soul;

Waiting on the universe.
Dropping all control
and longing,
allowing what will be, to be.

Shattered

I heard the crack,
the breaking,
residual silence.

These cuts are deep.
And the blood pours heavy
warm and pulsating
down my arm.

But now, after the stitches,
I still find the fragments
laying on the floor.
Slicing my hands as I pick them up.

The pain is endless,
deep and heavy
Or
shallow and sharp.

Every time I sweep 
I find more tiny slivers and shards
Lodged in my feet.

A neverending torment
reminding me 
that my world is now shattered.

Sharks in the Water

I'm trapped
underwater
Sharks swimming.

Keep
them
at bay.

No scent of blood

But my wound is gaping
and they can smell it.

Swim
Up

Get out

Get out

Before I'm eaten alive. 

If I Ever Find Love Again

If I ever find love again,

I will be chosen.

I will not chase them down,

Determined,

Strong,

Loving.

I will wait,

Hold myself in ways that are unnatural,

Force myself to be quiet.

Would you rather be with someone,

Even if it's wrong,

Or be alone?

They say over 80% of women stay.

The devil you know,

Over the potential you don't.

Maybe I'll follow myself,

Move to an island.

Find sun-filled shores.

But children,

Oh, my children,

The impossibility of a life divided for them.

So maybe I will stay,

And never find love again.

When Insanity Shouts: Listen

There is something particularly cruel about this one.

A brother detoxing, some days barely alive 
In my guest room.

A little girl, two and a half,
By my side day in and out.

Pregnant, anxious with worry,
After the miscarriage.

 
Caring for all of you,
In my home,
In my womb.

I remember weeping,
Begging him,
Because I felt so alone. 

And him,
Claiming he was trying,

He didn't know what to do.

A hotel room in Cincinnati.
Did it feel like home wasn't real?
Like he could be a man free
Of problems
Of responsibilities
Of family?

The problems he was ignoring
Even when he was home.
I married a Lost Boy,
And Wendy-bird, she can solve anything.

And she did.
Over and over again.

Feed the brother.
Read to the daughter.
Sing to the unborn baby.
Clean the house.
Make dinner for your overworked husband.
Ignore the insanity in your head.

Even though the insanity knew,
Somehow, the whole time.

Keep trying,
Don't break.
Take care of them,

No one else will.

Don't look around to see,
There is no one to take care of you.

Broken Hand

The week I broke my hand
My neighbor told me to take care of it well,
"Or you'll regret it when you're 50!"

It was the same week my heart broke,
A thousand shards glittering.

We taped it with popsicle sticks
To thwart a cast ruining summer
Avoiding the water an impossibility.

The glass of my heart is sharper,
No amount of tape will suffice.

He saw me a few days later,
Hand out toward the sun,
"What are you doing? You have to let it heal!"

Healing seems like a distant dream,
I'd rather sweep it all away.

These broken things,
Attempting to mend correctly.
But without a cast, there will always be a bend in my hand.

Platonic

We can be this way,

Easy,

Untangled,

Next to each other but not within.

Life is better beside,

UFC and poetry and a long list of movies.

I'll grow old if you want,

We'll never touch again.

I used to think the other way,

Burn it bright and fast.

Aching to be in your skin,

Caught and tangled in your mind.

But you were right the whole time.

Steady and sustainable,

Things that make me feel dull,

Are better than life without you.

I'll take a duller version of us,

If it means there still is any hope

Of us. 

Wishbone

In one fell swoop I lost the two people I would break for,

And break I did.

I felt the snap.

I've said before that I am unbreakable, but I can be bent.

I was wrong.

Violence and hate can't break me,

Death, hovering above my bed cannot make me snap.

It turns out it's love.

A wishbone held by two hands at either side of a table,

They pulled.

And I snapped cleanly.

Lucky in someone else's eyes. That I would snap in such a way for them.

Which one of you got your wish?

Do you know who holds the bigger piece?

All I feel is broken from the bone of my neck,

Where I used to sing.

Now unable to even whisper.

I actually see it clearer than this. Don't worry.

I know when it broke he gave a grin,

While you...

You did not even know what was being broken.

Don't throw the piece away?

Keep me safe?

Hold it tight,

Maybe we can piece it back together.

But you may be too shocked,

And sickened,

At the sight of me broken in your hand.

You might throw me and run.

I wouldn't blame you,

You never belonged in this mess.

I promise you I didn't know it was one.

Then it was too late,

To shout a warning out

From my broken neck.

Belief

I didn't believe him at first.

Not him,
Not us,
Never us.

But he had names
And places
And it was true.

Piece by piece.
It broke apart in my mind
And came back together.

I deserve better.

The Warmest Way

"Sometimes, love is almost protection enough."

Most days I think this is love
And it's keeping me alive.
Protecting me from the harm
That is in myself.

I thought it would be harder,
To pull back from you.

But I have tread this path before.
I know how to break parts of myself off.
Hold them in my hands
And save them for later. 

Here are some from 15 years ago,
See?
They still glisten in the light,
Beating.
Not dead after all these years.

I thought they might shrivel,
Or become smaller.
But they feel just the same.

I'll put your pieces with them.
And maybe someday,
I'll be able to tell,
The moment I knew
The you I loved was gone.

Or maybe I'll grow old,
Knowing the you I loved never changed.
That might be the warmest way,
To lose someone. 

The Death

The Death normally sits in the space between 

my clavicle and neck. 
A small hollow where it fits.
And I carry it there as if it is light. 

Sometimes it escapes and seeps down through my body.
Heavy
Heavy 
Heavy.
Smoke from the island,
Fog as in a dream.
Weighing me from head to toe.

"Why do you keep me so small?"
It whispers,
Reverberating under my skin. 
"Why don't you let me out?"
Teeth flashing, 
A bite within the smoke. 

I can hold it here,
Filled,
Cold,
Sharp,
For a while.
Until it is tired of living inside me. 
Constantly trying to seep out.

Then,
Oh so dark.
Do I fight it again?
I am so tired.
It has worn me down,
All these years.

Maybe, this time,
I will let the darkness spill out
Until I am nothing.
I am nothing.
Nothing
but cold.

Rare

How rare it is

For someone to not drown in our darkness,

To not pull us darker still,

Or only see our light.

How rare it is

For someone to see it all

Intertwined

And say,

"Here I am,

I see you,

I won't look away."

And instead

To stay.

You do not have to be so small,

Pulling yourself down to fill the spaces they create for you.

Take up your space,

And if they look away

Let them.

Land of Death

We wake to another shooting,
Another man dripping with violence,
Children, dead, in their classrooms,

Mothers wail in the street,

For their own flesh,

Walking embodiment of part of their soul

torn away.

But this is America.

Land of the free and the brave.

Land of gluttony gurgling out of every pore.

Land of hatred seething forth.

Land of death.

We will not recover,

All these children we have lost.

The land that bears their blood.

While men with the same violence sit

In power, overflowing with greed.

Unwilling to offer more,

Than a thought.

 Too much.

always.

Too much.

                For the men who are filled

with empty voids.

        With a lack of desire for me,

even though I reach toward them.

Giving,

too much giving.

Why am I always giving?

There's that look.

        Is that all it takes now?

Too keep me here,

Hoping?

                        I listen too well

                                To all the things you have told me.

                                        And I know you long for obsession,

                                 For something that fills.

And for some reason,

it's not me.

I can't fill it.

Even with all my words,

And kindness,

And gifts.

I'm here,

Waiting.

Incredible,

Radiant,

Talented,

Strong,

and still,

Not enough.

Annalise

 "I never saw you as nothing. You were never trash in my eyes!"

Remember Me

There lingers the suffocation.

A feeling that everyone

Is better off

Without me.

Around.

If I drifted

Away into the air, things would be lighter,

Easier

For everyone else.

I see it.

A fading that happens in their minds

As I try to breathe myself back into life.

But I am unable

Mouth filled with cloth.

Choking.

Remember me,

Remember me.

Remember me!

I plead.

But all they remember

are the haunting screams.

That followed me.

And they decide instead,

To forget.

Blood Filled with Sadness

 

You asked me once if I missed being her.

I said no,

Because she was sick,

And sad,

So much of the time.

I sometimes forget that my sadness is older than I allow it to seem.

There has always been a vein of it,

Coursing within me.

For as long as I can remember. 

This girl,

Who should have been so happy.

Newly married,

With a loving husband,

Was filled to the brim with sadness. 

It's not just her. 

The me before her was equally sad,

And the one before that.

Sometimes I think the one before her was fine,

but then I remember,

Those 3am nights.

All of the darkness.

I remember

How hard she tried.

While her body betrayed her,

Sicker all the time. 

And still she fought to be happy.

But the sadness has filled her blood 

for as long as my heart has been beating.

Dreaming

Dreaming,

He died.

A crash so instant,

nothing was felt.

Except in me,

where everything is felt. 

A whirlwind of loss;

Wake up screaming.

Alive.

Concussed Stream of Consciousness

 Oct. 2020

I've been concussed now for about 10 days. My brain feels like the tide coming in and slowly going out as I forget what I remembered only a few moments ago. 

I don't know if I will ever be quite the same as I was before. The documentary told me that the only things that called people users were drug dealers and social media companies, so maybe I've just become a user to everything around me and now I'm finally feeling like I'm a little bit free. The addiction that wants me is overwhelming at times. Not of substances, but instead of this constant need for connection both personal and impersonal. To know that the world is as I think it is. To have enough knowledge to appear smarter than those around me. To believe the things I believe. To know there is purpose and meaning when it feels like there might not be any, anywhere, ever.

Maybe I will go back to normal in a week. I won't remember these things or feel these things, but right now I do. And right now I know that time does not go in a line and it does not work in the way that we imagine it to work. But instead, time connects us and circles and loops as we struggle to break free of our constant depression and self-loathing and we hope that there is more that we can be. More connection than we dreamed possible for ourselves. But is this reality, or is the concussion talking again? Pulling me back into the peaceful darkness.

Unsaid

"Cause if I don’t call you up
Then I don’t have to feel down
And if I don’t say I miss you
Then you never have to be around
If I don’t say I love you
Then you don’t have to love me
See how simple
The unsaid keeps things?"

-unsaid (Tomberlin)

Don't ask me how I am.

In this silence

And longing.

You already know how I am.

I am without you.

And without you feels emptier

By the day.

Enough

I've become increasingly exhausted 

by never being enough.

So today I woke,

and decided,

I am.

A Stage Full of Memories

I stood on the stage,

My stage,

The one where I have performed since I was a child. Standing in the lights that have always lit my face, looking to the dark wings where I used to whisper as I waited to go on. This wood that knows my touch, my voice, my songs, my secrets. 

This stage that will soon be torn down,

Emptied out. 

Turned into something new.

"I'm not ready,"

I said to the curtains and the seats that bang back and forth.

They only sighed in reply,

Weary with age.

How is it that I am never ready?

As if these memories would dissolve

As the building falls to the ground.

If this structure is gone,

Do all of those moments still matter?

 

All the Noise Inside My Head

I went somewhere in my head and you couldn't follow.

I tried to let you in with words and more words. But the more I said, the more it all came out wrong and small. I could feel your callousness toward me growing with every line. But the noise inside my head was too great, a cacophony, to show you what I meant. And all I really needed was for you to tell me I was not a game to you. That I still meant as much to you as I did on that Monday. That I was not foolish for trusting. 

But I could not ask for what I wanted. And you could not follow me through the noise. So instead I felt you pulling back, retreating. Away from me. Away from us.

Now the noise has settled. And I'm standing in the aftermath, shaking, unsure. Are you still here with me in the silence and serene? Or did the clanging send you running?

Keys

I gave you my keys. The ones I had kept
Untouched for years, for fear of judgement.
And you tossed them in a drawer
Almost immediately.
And forgot.

Secondhand Smoke

He tasted of cigarettes.

Not something I liked but something that permeated.
And now he is still there
In my mouth,
With every inhale of secondhand smoke.
Even after all these years.

Unknown

It rained on us
All the way to the hospital.
And she giggled,
As we went.

Giant drops splattering,
In conjunction with her laughter.

Her excitement at this adventure,
A singing bird,
Trilling away,
Unbothered.

"Please,
dear Lord,"
I prayed,
"May this always be an adventure
And not a harm."

I drove my precious,
Exclaiming,
Passenger
Through the downpour,
To the doors of the unknown.

Baby Yoda

 My daughter cried when my husband said he loved her more than Baby Yoda.

"But Baby Yoda is so cute!!!" she wailed.

Giant tears rolling down her pouting cheeks. 

Zola is like this,

The child I named after the earth,

Tranquility,

Is full of sun and storm.

Nothing is better than her joy,

Mischief and silliness,

Tiny kisses to wake you in the morning.

But her sadness is sudden,

and large.

A thunderstorm of sorrow.

The injustice of Baby Yoda,

Unkissed before bed, too much for her to handle.

Being loved by Zola is being filled to the brim,

Spilling over with her unconditional enjoyment of you.

Into the Darkness

There's a bird that chirps

Outside my window

All night long.

Singing a song into the darkness

And it makes me think

I might want to live

And sing my song

Out into the darkness too.

Bloom

It has been a desert here,
For too long
And I have grown thorns.

Folded into myself,
As my exterior grows sharper,
Safer,
Day by day.

I am unable to be devoured.
And if they try,
I leave a mark.
A remembrance to stay,
Far away.

But suddenly I have found
A flower
Growing in the axil.
Through the thorns.

She is small,
And I long to warn her,
The desert is not for life.
It is death
To any desire for flourishing.

But here she grows,
Undeterred.
Through the thorns.
Beautiful.

It has been a desert here,
For too long
Yet I have begun to bloom.

Savor

The other day we were talking about
Our transient community
And all the people we have loved
And lost because of life here.

And I said to Keeva,
"Things don't have to last forever to be beautiful"
And Keeva said,
"It's just like ice cream!"

So, We will savor each moment,
Like my child eats ice cream.
So slow that it melts into nothing
And we still find it sticky somewhere,
Long after we have thought it was
Washed away

Midnight Thoughts

This is the time when my brain starts to churn at a different speed. 
All day I spend reacting, solving, connecting,
dealing, and suddenly, when it is time to rest

The checklist resurfaces.
And I have completed nothing.