troubled water

You can't spell 'damage' without 'dam', the kind we build
to hold back water and ourselves,
which is interesting when you think
that symbolically speaking (in terms of dreaming,
at least) water represents our emotions.
In my dreams I have fought wars 
underwater but mostly there is snow, and
I thought you might like to know that this means I am
damaged too, we are all damaged. We have been taught
that growing up is learning to suppress
and to accept disappointment,
which can't be spelled without 'point' and sometimes
I can feel that too, a bitter edge twisting in my chest.
A perfect example- my colleague wanted so badly
to give someone a second chance,
he truly believed that as time progressed
they would meet his expectations. I stood by
and observed as the inevitable happened- I 
saw the hope die in his eyes, I saw that dying light
crushed beneath hard heels like so much dirt. 
I saw his expression and it hurt us both, that
sharp disappointment.
What's harder to learn about growing up is that
we can't stop,
we must keep going; and although we are
building up our dams we are just as capable
of building bridges. It takes time, but maybe
someone else is also beginning on their bridge,
and reaching out is difficult but
work goes faster when you have a team.
Asking for help doesn't make you weak-
it makes you human, and I thought that you should know
that I'm here, I'm also human.
My bridge is marble: heavy to carry, but when it's complete
won't it be beautiful to see.

memory medley

every thought arrives disjointed- somewhere
there are wires crossing and marbles rolling
haphazardly. i am scattered,
puffs of milkweed on the breeze
or ashes in the sea. i am neither
here no there, i am lost and
i am trying hard not to be scared.
there is a drumming in my head
and a pounding in my spine
(it hurts so much to think sometimes).
memories are mixing in
with snapshots of my dreams-
did i already tell you this, or
am i still imagining things?

full recovery

I could have lied. I
could have covered up the wound,
but I was too surprised
when I woke up in my room, bloody and confused-
no idea how I got there, no clue
where these stitches came from-
but lord! they are poorly done.
I called up my brother and asked him to come;
I ate too much food to numb the ache,
to cover the break- but we are all human
and I only gained weight.
Then like so many others before me,
I bit the bullet. I gritted my teeth,
I got out of bed, I lived through the grief,
and I waited a whole day before crying.

[dream]

a city shot from his chest as he fell
where he died- when the dust stilled,
the empty field had been replaced
with a skyline.
we didn't have time
to find him, we ran like we were told- but
i can still see the sun on that city, shining
bright and gold.

Sibroyalty

she once dug nails into my skin, i
once connected my open palm
to her face, and neither of us
ever thought we'd see this day-
we share ourselves
without animosity.

i have two brothers now but
that is the least of the changes.

people would always say, "you can't hate
each other forever," to which we'd laugh,"oh,
you don't know us!" but they knew
of time, and now we know too.
it's amazing
what a few years can do.

hopeless wanderer

I want to live my life flying 
barefoot through the clouds, staring 
out of windows and breaking the surface of water 
to land. Some say that I leave too often, I go 
walking too much, but 
what is wrong with the arriving? 

The touching down, the pulling up, 
the opening 
of doors and stepping out? Nothing wrong 
I know, to each their own and mine 
is this- I will greet my friends with a smile 
and a kiss, and at the end of my trip-
wash, rinse, repeat.

stop hitting yourself

have you ever been so bored
that you caused yourself small amounts of pain
just because? a pinch on the soft spot
of your arm, nails digging into your palm,
teeth on your lip. and so on.

it is possible, I think,
to do the same thing
with your emotions.
oh, old photos of old flames! I remember
the knife
sliding past my ribs, too clearly
the feeling of letting go. this
is in the past, but here I am-
the knife is in my hands, and
my heart remembers the hurt.



Next I am going to challenge myself to write a sonnet about something again and then one about storms because I forgot how much I love thunderstorms. They are great.

one of my friends said, ‘hold on, i can’t, words’ and that has been the sad truth of my mind for quite some time. i can’t words, please hold while the program shuts down, there is no hope for communication now.yes i can speak, i can write but none of it is right, every letter is a fight and every sentence is wrong- surely this word does not belong here, surely there is a better structure for this paragraph, surely you must be joking is this all i have to work with? some days i want to calmly step out of my skin, fold it up, and step outside for a moment. other days i make sure to ride without a seatbelt and think of every scenario possible that ends with an ambulance. there are more days that i just float through, frustrated and unsure. is it enough to be alive without expressing how i feel?

there has to be a special word for that

the bites are more frequent now- a sting on
the back of my eyes followed by a short-lived constriction
of the throat. a thought will float
to the surface and it's buoyancy carries me
further than where i'd expected so
all i can do is exhale a
thank you
thank you
thank   y  o    u 
until I can pull myself together and
carry on.

---
I don't cry often, but sometimes I start to feel so happy and grateful about something/someone that I start to get that pre-tears feeling. It's a little embarrassing, to be honest, because I kinda feel like a huge emotional dweeb whenever it happens. But I guess it's a good thing to get the positive kind of emotional over nice things? I don't know. That was too many synonyms or "good".

Emotional Roller-Coaster

I am remembering the roller-coaster, the buildup 
of gravity in my bones- [chik].[chik].
[chik].[chik]. 
and on and on until 
silence 
and the 
drop 
and the 
scream. 
It’s been so long since I've seen 
the world rush by- but I can feel it now,
and when I ache to tell you about 
the roller-coaster I’ve been riding on, 
the physical memory seems 
so much better, by comparison.



-------

I have a lot of feelings.
I am tempted to bake a cake.

Maps Are Dumb.

I press my finger flat against the map,
momentarily tempted to push straight through
but it wouldn't do any good.
The length of two knuckles- there are small scars
littering this hand, compounding papercuts and
childhood mistakes-
two knuckles and over two hundred miles.
I can't think of anything else lately,
I'm being eaten by a beast
and these miles are teeth.
Distance is my boulder,
and I am always struggling
uphill.



---
Fun Fact-
I am a terrible navigator.
Not-so-fun-fact-
less than half my soulfriends (and regular friends!) are living in my home state.
I have a bad habit of making friends with people when I travel someplace... which certainly doesn't help!

slow dawning

i remember the moment when i knew
we would be friends,
laying awake before bed-
the best description i can manage is
that i felt our friendship
solidifying-
tightening
around my heart,
blooming among my ribs
and various vital organs.
i smiled,
went to sleep,
and dreamt of warm nothings.


---
this past summer, i saw a friend who i hadn't seen/ spoken to in a few years, and i was nervous because i tend to overthink things and what if we're too different to really be friends now? but it was alright, and i'm really happy about it still!
also,
this is how i feel most of my friendships, so that's a cool thing that actually happens.

amber and tiger's eye

We were sitting around the table, a deja vu
set in flesh (plus or minus a few)-
we returned to one small moment, where
everyone's eyes were blue
except his. So odd, so ironic, so
lovely
in a way
that I cannot think to conjugate.
I cannot recall if he refused
to acknowledge what we all knew-
that brown eyes
can be nice,
too.



---
[true story. i think there were seven of us? eight if becca had been there, but mark was the only one with brown eyes and everyone else had blue eyes and i just think that's pretty great.]

delta

Sometimes I think that we are stones
dropped into the [pond]river-ocean
of this world, left to erode in
the current as our ripples spread and
fade.
Sometimes I can sit and feel
the water, whatever it happens to be.
We are always drowning,
but rocks do not need to breathe.




---
(I am absurdly happy with this poem.)

soothsaying sucrose

periwinkle pink plaid cherry chocolate pie
cookie dough quiltwork
gashes in my thighs
marmalade magenta sugar reigns supreme
cyan candy cruellers
heart attacks with cream





---
I'm not entirely sure.

Handle With Care

Eggshells, the bones of
small creatures, trust,
hearts; things that can easily
crack and or break,
fall apart, fade away.
Fragility lives and breathes
in every moment, on the
edge of every breath
and at the start
of every step,
no matter what you do.
Ironically, it is the strong
who are able to carry through.





--
Working on the same theme as 'Fragility'
 

Fragility

Cup yours hands carefully
around the wings, beating
like hushed laughter against the
skin of your palms. Leave
some gaps; nothing large enough
to set it free, but to let some
air in to breathe. This feeling
of wonder and fear and joy
and caution- it’s right, it’s proper,
it’s what you should be feeling. Now
that you have learned something-
set it free.







 

Moment

I like to walk away as if I'm never really leaving,
because I manage to always act
while almost never really thinking.
I like to pretend living is easier this way, loving
the moment and how I will always stay
where I am if
where I am is
anywhere I can be.

I like it when I'm never still, because then I can believe
that everything is fine; as long as I keep moving
the future will be the last thing on my mind.






It's funny, because I literally cannot think far enough ahead. And then I'm stuck in the middle of something, and I realize that there was a flaw in my non-plan and then I just shrug and take the next step out.
Soooo hilarious.

"inch by inch, life's a cinch"

The cycle begins again, it seems as if this is all I've known- the scare of strange streets gradually losing their unfamiliar sheen and becoming something more acquainted, closed doorways and corner shops giving their silent nods in greeting as I pass. This season will soon be coming to a close, though, and my time here will end. On everbody's lips is the same question, and I have it now on my own- where will I go? Washington state, I ponder, or should I try to stay in this city that is still slightly new? I have yet to truly learn even a niche, which I would dearly love to do (it's a lovely place, I think)- but who knows! Not I, for sure, and maybe that should be disconcerting but I am currently inclined to let the current carry me where it will, and without too many intentions I will say, "To hell with the consequences, I will have to learn to love another small space of this enormous world."

Antipathy

it's the smell of a room once you leave it, that makes me hesitate
in the doorway or open a window. I could never wish pain
on anyone, you taught me that in your roundabout way
(I don't think you were aware
of your lessons, the tears streaking my sister's face)-
I could never wish glass in your heel
or a car coming too fast out of a turn. This isn't kindness
on my part- pain hurts me. But I am leaving soon, and
I would not be there to see the rosebush scratch your eyes,
I wouldn't hear the crunch of bone (maybe
not a car accident, maybe a bad fall)
and the phone call
that would inevitably come
would not inspire any sympathy pains-
normally hearing about a dislocated knee
will make my own ache, but
there are always
exceptions.