A Decade

It's nearly been a decade now,

And you've never touched this skin,

Yet somehow you've left fingerprints

That still sting me from within.

A word, a phrase, an image

Puts me right back in your car,

And from time to time I think about

How far away you are.

I can't help but wonder if

You've hurt someone like you did me,

Because it's nearly been a decade now

And I'm still not fully free.

Cleansing

 When I was a child,
My mother would ask me to clean the baseboards,
And I would protest.
"No one ever looks at the baseboards!"

When I was a child,
My father would ask me to wipe the walls,
And I would protest.
"The walls are vertical! They don't get dusty!"

When I was a child,
I didn't understand what they were trying to say,
And I would protest.
"You're the one having guests, not me!"

But what I had yet to realize
Was that it wasn't about the dust
Or the markings on the wall
Or even how we were perceived.

It wasn't until I had a home of my own
That I let stagnate and fester,
With dust and must and
The sense of dread behind a closed door

That I learned the lesson:
Sometimes, the evil spirit in the house
Is simply a dust bunny,
And the bad energy is you.

It was only after I scrubbed the walls,
Wiped the baseboards,
And vacuumed the ceiling seams
That I felt the weight was gone'

The weight you carry for so long
That you forget it's there
Lingers in your home.
I finally chased it off.

Once I learned that the best banishment
For that kind of curse
Is a bucket of warm water,
Some vinegar, and a vacuum.

You're Asleep

You're sound asleep

In the bed next to me 

Your snores a soft growl of contentment.

You're chewing something imaginary

And shifting like the tides

Of an ever-stirring sea.

I am in love with you.

Unsent Letter No. 10

You're afraid of being uncomfortable,

And you don't dare make others feel so.

You don't dare use your voice;

You're afraid of taking up space,

Afraid of confrontation,

Afraid of discomfort.

What do you feel

In the choking silence

That follows an unresolved conflict?

What do you think

In the moments of tension

That wound up with no release?

People snap, it's true,

But in the fear of snapping

You leave yourself and others wound tight.

Do you know that a string can be unraveled?

Do you know that a spring can be eased out?

I don't think so.

I don't think you ever learned,

Because you were too busy manufacturing 

The safety of cold silence.

I hope you figure that out,

I hope you learn to use your voice,

Lest you drift away and be forgotten.

Best regards.

Saving Myself

It's hard.

Change and growth are painful,

Especially when one's been content in misery for longer than can be remembered.

And I did it.

Well, I tried.

To be more present,

An active participant in my own life,

Instead of watching it pass me by.

I'm happier,

And yet,

It's still hard.

It's hard to grow and change,

To escape stagnation.

It takes time,

And love,

And support,

But I can't get that from you.

It's as if, somehow,

It's wrong to live my life,

Because it takes time away from what we have -

Or, at least, from what we used to have.

It's as if, somehow,

Despite my bleeding heart,

I've betrayed you,

By daring to catch my breath.

I've reached out,

I've explained, apologized,

Done everything shy of begging for forgiveness,

And yet,

I pour my soul into a void

That seems to give nothing back,

I'm yearning for a connection that used to be;

I'm yearning for the support offered before I dragged myself into the light.

I'm sorry, my friend.

I didn't know that saving myself

Would come at the cost of you.

Mountain Loneliness

 A brisk breeze whispers past,
Carrying the pungent perfume of pine.
It toys with a stray strand of hair,
And draws anxieties from my mind.

Dusk-lights dance on the rippling waves,
Oranges, blues, greens, and yellows.
In the distance, a birdsong warbles
As the evening starts to mellow.

The peace washes over me,
And settles like morning dew,
But as ever, it stays out of reach,
For I am here without you.

A rustle in the brush nearby
Catches my attention.
Tribe of turkeys, lone groundhog,
Or just my mind's invention?

I coax my thoughts back
To still, soft mountain air.
I breathe it in, breathe it out,
In a silent ritual prayer.

Lazy leaves on tranquil trees
Sing soothing songs of slumber,
But I fear I won't find rest tonight,
For I am without my lover.

Losing Me

I know you can't bear losing me,
And it's hard to let you go,
But I think it's time to set us free
With these words that you should know.

I feel I'll always love you
Deep within my bones.
I'm grateful for all we got to do,
And all the love you've shown.

In loving you, I lost myself;
I gave in to you completely.
Sometimes one must save oneself,
And I hope we can part sweetly.

I'll always hold you in my heart,
And look upon you fondly.
I hate that it is time to part,
But I need out of this quandary.

Thank you for everything we've done,
For every moment that we've made.
Thank you for all the elation,
And all the love you gave.

 

This, Too, Shall Pass

It is not a crime

To protect your peace.

It is not illegal

To stand up for yourself.

It’s never too late

To say, “This is enough.”

To draw that line,

And to enforce that boundary.

It is not unkind

To defend your sanity.

It is not cruel

To cut out the rot.

It is not wrong

To point out the pain,

To bring down the hammer,

And to make it all end.

It is not weak

To need some support.

It is not crazy

To be hurt by abuse.

It is not your fault

That it took so long,

That it got so damn big,

Or that it happened at all.

It is not a sin

To look out for your health.

It is not a flaw

To be tired and worn-down.

It is going to be okay.

This, too, is forgiven.

This, too, is right.

This, too, shall pass. 

Not Tonight

I'm not going to hurt myself
Even though I fucking want to.
I'm not going to cut myself
Into a thousand useless pieces.

Not tonight.
No, not tonight.

I'm not going to kill myself
Because I know what that would do.
I know that you would blame yourself
After all that shit you said.

I could really hurt myself
More than anyone else is able.
But I'll put the knife back on its shelf
And stow the gun beneath the bed.

Not tonight.
No, not tonight.

I whisper the mantra to myself
So I don't do something fatal.
I'm not going to kill myself,
Even when the pain increases.

Not tonight.
No, not tonight.

I'm not sure how to stop myself,
And yet, I somehow always do.
You're worried about my mental health?
I promise, so am I.

I'm not going to kill myself,
Even though I sometimes want to.
I don't want to hurt anyone else,
And that means I can't die.

Not tonight.
No, not tonight.

I'm not going to hurt myself
Even though I fucking want to.
I'm not going to cut myself
Into a thousand useless pieces.

Unsent Letter No. 9

I almost texted you last night.

I was drunk, tired, and conflicted.

You've been on my mind a lot lately —

I don't really know why —

And I was wondering how you've been.

I was wondering if you miss me.

I was wondering if you love me:

Or, at least, if you ever did.

But those questions are left unanswered,

And I suppose it's better that way

For both of us.

I wanted to reach out and apologize

For all those terrible things I did 

And for all those terrible things I said,

But I didn't want to dredge that up.

If I'm to be a memory,

I hope to be a pleasant one,

But I doubt that's a possibility.

You have every right to hate me;

I suppose I've the same right to hate you.

I can't, really, but I have the right.

I never wanted things to end the way they did;

I never wanted them to end at all,

Yet here I am, 

Wondering how it went so wrong.

I told you once

That if I loved you yesterday,

I would love you forever. 

That's still the truth, you know.

I've fallen in love a thousand times,

And I probably will a thousand more,

But of nine hundred ninety-nine heartbreaking,

None hurt quite like yours.

Best regards.

2:49 P.M.

My head hurts.

It's a million degrees in the office.

The clock is ticking its somber song,

Perpetual, as if today is Limbo.

Tick, tick, tick.

I wonder what the thermostat is set to.

I drink some water, 

But the headache doesn't subside.

The keyboards echo the clock.

Tick, tick, tock.

I can hear the computer mice

Clicking, roving, searching.

Eternally unsatisfied, restless,

Like my knee bouncing beneath the desk.

Tick, tock, tick.

The computer says it's 2:49 P.M.

It's been 2:49 for as long as I can remember.

The clock on the wall is behind,

Stuck at 2:48, in that space between times.

Tock, tick, tick.

I'm writing an email. Maybe two.

My words are punctuated by the clock.

My thoughts are punctuated by my breath.

My head hurts.

Tick, tick. tick.

void

Every once in a while,

I get this irrepressible urge

To destroy everything I have created.

I fight off the desire

To rip myself apart in spectacular fashion

And wound everyone with the misfortune to know me.

I find myself staring in the mirror,

Utterly terrified of what I see

Just behind my emerald eyes.

I want to rip myself apart,

But I'm afraid of what I'll find inside,

And unwilling to release it.

I fight off l'appel du vide,

But I know it's still there,

Somewhere,

Whispering to me when I'm alone.

I look into that blackest abyss

And feel it gaze back into me.

Something Inside

Something inside me is grieving,
And I know not for what it mourns -
A longing for something beyond my reach,
Beyond my knowledge, beyond the breach.

Something inside me is broken,
And I can't find the piece.
Somewhere beneath the surface,
Shattered and amorphous.

Something inside me is furious,
Full of claws and gnashing teeth,
Tearing at the walls of its cage,
And consuming me with its rage.

Something inside me is turbulent,
Whirling out of control.
It's threatening to rip me apart
And drown me, alone, in the dark.

Something inside me is grieving,
And I know not for what it mourns.
It's bottled up, kept safely inside,
That thing that can't be described.

Feral

Sometimes I feel

As if I am going feral -

Drooling, snarling, whimpering -

And making sounds no civilized person

Ought to make.

Trapped in a prison

And enslaved

By a hundred million years of evolution,

We are bound to one purpose.

I am feral.

Call me wicked, filthy, degenerate;

Call me nothing but what I am,

And nothing but what I do.

Words escape me,

Slipping from my mind 

Like silt between my fingers 

And smoke on the breeze:

Inarticulate. Feral.

I am trapped,

By a hundred million years of instinct

And a primal sense of need.

They trap my mind

In a cage of ecstasy.

I question myself,

Asking if I am the master

Or if I am enslaved,

But I'm not sure that it matters.

I am feral.

You can smell it on my skin,

See it in my eyes,

Taste it on my lips,

Hear it in my breath,

And feel it through my heart.

Gasping for air,

For the words that escape me,

I am helpless - powerless -

In the face of a hundred million years

Of ferocity.

Does it matter if you know what I am?

I am not sure that it changes anything,

So long as you know 

I am feral.

Spilling

It's as if I am drowning,

Struggling to keep my head up

In water so deep it spills over the edges

And splatters onto the floor.

It's as if I am on my tip-toes,

Barely able to touch the bottom,

And most of the time, it's okay,

But every wave pushes me underwater.

I sputter and cry out, but it's in my mouth

And spilling every time I speak.

It drips from the ceiling, an endless flood,

Filling all the buckets in my mind.

There's too much to bottle and store,

Too much to seal away,

But I must try or else I'll drown

In all the things I can't contain. 

It's spilling all around me,

Soaking everyone who comes close,

Clinging to their skin and clothes,

A reminder of the mess I've made.

It's as if I can't find the bottom

For more than a second.

My toes brush against the rocks

And try to cling to them.

It's as if I'm drowning,

In a torrent of myself.

I can't drown it out with anything

Because the flood comes from inside.

Aesthetic

My aesthetic is the soft rays of the sunset

Painting the underside of the clouds

With light the color of peaches and marigolds.

It is the song stuck in your head,

With the bassline you feel in your chest

That compels you to tap your toe.

My aesthetic is the rolling thunder

That shakes windows and rattles teeth

As it ripples through the sky.

My aesthetic is the black outline of trees

Against a sky the color of fire,

Whispering in the wind.

It's the smell of the ocean and wood smoke,

With the sticky sweetness of honey

And the clear bite of pine and mint.

My aesthetic is silent sobs in the shower

With tightness in the throat

And catharsis in the form of hot water.

It is the primal screams of grief and elation,

The burn of lightning in the sky,

And the touch of eiderdown.

My aesthetic is the whistle of the highway,

That exhilaration just beyond the speed limit,

And the ecstasy of being alive.

It is the thrill of victory

Coupled with voracity,

Curiosity, and ambition.

My aesthetic is the Caribbean sea,

The light of the moon,

And the warmth of the touch of a friend.

It is the blinding brilliance of the sun,

The mystery in the stars,

And the love of all the universe.

Implosion

Every piece builds the pile,

Each one heavier than the last.

It grows and swells and builds

Until it reaches critical mass.

Eventually, the strain's too great,

And that is when it starts:

Sudden, violent, unstoppable,

It rips itself apart.

Unable to downregulate

The primal, cosmic wrath,

Each piece tears the next one down

Along that one-way path.

A wound rips through the universe

Creating a million cracks.

And all because the pile

Finally collapsed.

Unsent Letter No. 8

 I don't know if you ever forgave me,

But I know that I haven't forgiven myself

For that grievous error,

A mistake so catastrophic that it haunts me

More than half a decade later.

I know that we've both tried to move on,

But I know that I can't let it all go,

And I can't help but wonder

If that's the case for you, too.

Forgiven, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.

They say "time heals all wounds,"

But neglect to mention the scars left behind:

Scars that fade into memories

And are never really gone.

Scars I left on you which I have carved into myself.

Perfection

A butterfly in the wind,

The further I reach,

The farther it flies,

Ever fluttering

Just beyond my fingertips.

I should catch it.

I must catch it.

It is what's expected;

It is what's necessary.

Whispering, it taunts me,

Knowing it lies

Beyond my grasp,

But I must pursue it

Anyway.

There should be no mistakes.

I cannot make a mistake.

No errors are permitted;

No blunders are acceptable.

In one hand, I hold knowledge:

It is impossible.

In the other, I hold desire:

It must be reached.

"Or Else" is not an option.

Azure wings against azure sky

Unattainable

Irresistible 

Perfection.

Outburst

 I had another outburst.

My bottled feelings boiled over,

Spilled down my shirt,

And scalded both of us.

Sometimes I'm able to step away

When I feel those feelings roiling,

But more often than not I notice too late,

And more than myself gets burned.

Part of me would rather be liked,

But the other'd rather be right,

And my righteous, preposterous rage

Frequently fills me with regrets.

Emotional outbursts scorch the earth

Like dragon's fire, uncontained,

And even though I'm terribly sorry,

I know it'll happen again.