Masterpiece pumpkin, your shirt still smells like you
In the corner of memories, those Hawaiian print patterns on your
Little outfit set, purple and white and sticky
Pale as the rice in your bowl
As the chop sticks that leaned in pans
As the acid erosion eating at my early teeth
After leechee fruit cubes in tiny gelatin packages, handed to me
I can touch your doll clothes in the lost and found of my mind,
Taste the air he made salty by your tiny tears
When the boy mocked your words, name
Did he ever grow up knowing
You were the phoenix of this desert?
That the sun set for you, dear girl,
And that summer you left, you took the warmth
Did he feel it? Did he know?
That we wrote letters in bubble handwriting
On milky blue lines with glittered gel colors
And that our hands met words to speak when we could not
That the moon belonged to Hawaiian purple with the slender frame
And big brawny me wrapped in black vinyl jacket year-round?
I’ll tell him, sweet haze, that we never forgot to be children,
That we grew up in the heart of eleven years
And never apart though separate,
You with your red and gold new-year packets
With your sesame fish spine snacks and canned corn,
Rising above the dry heat into a bird,
I’ll never let those tears put out
your flame before you could become, again
It’s inevitable, perhaps, the wilting of relationships.
seems like the corners of someone’s eyes grow heavier
as hours pass, weeks, months, and it’s always easy
to stare at sadness or hide from a lover when things become
It’s always ‘complicated’
as uttered by every person on this dying earth.
and this home turns us
and to us whispers. and we pray silent thoughts in response.
the arms of our whispers begin growing weeds enough
to prune thoughts about love and vows and hysteria
as age grants itself to you,
as polished people ponder the various ways to disconnect from yearning,
to stop themselves from tip-toing away from empty beds
to stop themselves from chasing harsh illusions of warmth in bodies
who lure us into freezing fatalities…
all this and yet –
i’ve felt myself enough to be coaxed by my own heart
into seeking affection from noted illusions.
like sucking my fingers at the mere memory of sweet cakes,
i recall men.
i recall attention.
and then tension.
i recall silence.
and phone calls.
and illness and tears.
i recall silence.
and phone calls.
and illness and tears.
i recall calling.
and then silence.
and a new start begins cyclical and clinical,
dinner paid for by a new man, by new men.
chasing the hollow outline of heat,
charging at the empty promise of a person worth more
than a free meal.
i let them feed me for sport.
and try my hand at getting a grasp
on those good enough for something
i. never want to be pretty. never want to feel clean and nice, be praised and priced for what ruins me, what makes us all attached and detached and hating and hungry for eachothers flesh like, survival of the fittest… woman. sisters, we’ve fallen. out of love with ourselves and eachother. girls, breeding is not our power, love is not our killer and the only thing thats sets us apart is not yeast infections and procreation. girls. i can tell you truth - not behind your back bout your behind and whether you got enough back to portrude, be rude, obsess about comparative features and breed hate for someone i should relate to… never create pain but speak truth. not all that or make jokes about those pockets of fat or how fat my mans pockets be before yours… cuz i know what fat can reach into your spirit and weigh… weigh… weigh you down, like a double dutch game carrying and extra 50 pounds of pain, of emptiness, of self loathing and withholding love from our selves. we should be reaching up to eachother, place our sisters upon shelves and say “you’re not just pretty, you’re perfect” and the air breaths out blowing words over you saying “you’re good enough for the sun to press its lips against your head every day, good enough for the moon to pull you close, pull you from the inside out caressing your fluids like a newborn as you sleep in the arms of mother, of all things bigger than ourselves.” bigger than our brothers, bigger than touched up images on magazine covers, bigger than the things we can give and get from lovers. larger than life, large and in charge and without the empty confindence from getting picked up at bars. you’re more than this. and i’m guilty too, but sometimes helping others is the only way to help you. and i see this relfection with every breath professing and preaching - but girls - i know you. we are the center, we are the healers. what man can stand without a woman to hold him up, i don’t know a single one. but the ones we forget to help up is, you. and me. our ladies, our girls. its an urban war for sure, jerry springer is a general and i sit and laugh as our sisters throw blows call eachther hoes, and its funny. but not really. because if we taught our daughters how to respect themselves as carefully as they inspect themselves for imperfections, there wouldn’t be a springer show cause every girl with a soul would drop any man who had no self control. so girls. don’t be a girl who hates girls, you don’t have to love them but at least be one who loves themself.
The gentle cover
Of covers exposing your shoulders
I kiss them with honesty
I place them in my bareness
And fall short in my
I work marches around your face
My eyes run circles
Brown piercing seriousness
And causing you to blush
But I don’t see any redness
In your blackness
The tonality of your voice
Voicing expressions exposing your shoulders
And why you have scar tissue
And a daughter
I learn why I have shortcomings in my
And why you sweat so sweetly
Why your breath is harsh, why your mouth
But is never alone
The gentle cover
Of your hands that cover
My face in the park
Burrowed in touch
Kissed with honesty
what can i say? a gentle soul woos me. deal makers for me have always been the occasional rap-hands and/or telling me i’m funny and being sincere about the compliment. in the past, deal breakers have been sports-fans, poorly picked shoes and/or a coat of too much cologne or b.o.
balance is key. spain has changed me and so has heartbreak. i find myself saddened less frequently but harshly invigorated by anger, a quality i’d like to drop soon. i’ve become more selfish than ever, an uncaring kid who knows the rules and breaks them with half-hearted guilt disorienting my demeanor. lustful, vengeful and a glutton bound for greatness but sullied by situations. in recent cases, i’ve been convicted of affection - overwhelming and overlapping different objects thereof, all for my own amusement. and i know just how to abuse it.
but theres news. and i don’t wanna watch it, too afraid to read it cuz i know i always learn something i wish i hadn’t. today’s top story is about new beginnings and meeting a single man who takes you out for a date, unnerving with his delicate voice. i am on the edge of my seat and the anchor reports to me:
“be cautioned, he is armed with strong arms gentle enough to adore with and dangerously exactly you’re type… ” and i rush to dead-bolt my doors closed and the bell rings.
I hope to hear of you soon.
Health and love.
-the unexpected words of a past friend and familiar stranger.
I’m having issues at the moment staying focused on any one thing at a time. my mind is running wild and translucently viewing the thickest slab of anything presented before me. i am wise. i am cynical and hopeful and unintentionally thinking always - the fast movement was wondrous and left me with a dissonant awe sounding in my memory when thought back to a time and place or idea; persons; peoples; happenings. i am wise. i am young and stupid and afraid of nothing. i revel in listlessness and stew in the painful hysteria that is feeling. it’s been that annoying sensation of interest; any one or more feelings of excitement sprouted from the form of another person. i’m not ready, thus annoyed by my thoughts and attachments built loosely on physicality. i am “lonely”, i tell myself. i am “emotionally starving”, i say. that the bitter taste of joy felt from another is only a menacing ghost trail left from the dead; the hollowest desire for affection - “it is empty! do not mistake your hunger for romantic affections!” I advise myself. and then the smallest set of personal prisms pick their way in, sneaky, the hole in the corner of my mind and i find myself remembering the sight of fragmented light; a pretty depiction of a picturesque persona. sweet things, the funnies, the immediate exposure of my eyes in the sunlight; i will be blinded by the concept! by the innate desire to connect myself in emotion while in body. to endure the enjoyment of a foolish sentiment and allow myself the excitement of another bitter memory to be resented. forsooth! i betray myself in all aspects.
the inner conflict you experience when you realize all the memories you treasured and thought you’d never trade for the world; all the growth, the past you thought would continue on as your beloved future have become an unexpected torture to recall. i used to be a romantic but bitterness has taught me to regret… and i’d hate to say it but i guess i was a fool to think that if we loved eachother, it wasn’t a mistake.
some times theres too many wise words to say anything at all. sometimes, its yourself that hurts you and no one else and because you are so intent on making other people feel pain you try your hands at hurting yourself. emotions are hard. if you could hold them in your palms, you would feel weight. you’d feel sharpness pushing itself into the wrinkles and cracks of your skin. you would be crushed.
i’ve done a lot to be proud of in the past week, and a lot to regret. for whatever reasons i did them, i have no shame and no remorse and even if i know they weren’t the wisest choices, they’re mine. my experiences, my faults, my conflicts, my mistakes, my memories. mine. no one else can change them or take them away from me. i know they’ve shaped me (perhaps not for the better) but regardless of that shape, i enjoyed myself. i made myself happy.
To quote someone I’ve met here in Santiago de Compostela,
“I’m sorry that I’m not sorry.”
through the most basic and extreme notions of human existence, it is with bittersweet pleasure that i can finally say i’ve experienced all that i envied to experience as a child. i was naive to value the kind of pains endured in adulthood. or maybe i was too wise for my age, wise enough to value the hardship i would later find - for as a child i knew that the heart was worth baring. Even with all its sadness, as i witnessed in the eyes of adults, i knew then that it was meant to break as well as swell for others. but in action; in use, the adult heart will give question to its purpose and ask itself: “is it worth the pain, to love?” this is the most challenging upheaval, for the challenge itself must be taken on faith. That when the heavy climb up this mysterious hill, the hardship of the trek will pay off. Because we, as creatures, fear the unknown. we refuse the work unless there is absolute reimbursement of equal or greater exchange. and even though we know deep down, we have to learn to accept that we have no control. we have no control.
i recently found myself in a heart pounding nervous conversation with the absolute recollection of guilt. we talked about the eccentricity of most artists, which brought me back to Dostoevsky’s passage in the idiot where the writer explains his theory as to why intelligent people; genuinely original with genius-type brilliance are leaps beyond sadness in any day to day sense than average people could be. they are not only darkened by the heaviness of their own situations or the weight of understanding the complicated sorrow of the world but rather, are fueled by their own self-doubt beyond depression - to the point of never ending madness and extreme mental and emotional anguish. this is why the most intelligent, generally, endure greater suffering as a steady constant through out their lives. this thought i griped my mind around tightly because i can relate. i’d be a liar if i were modest enough to say i don’t consider myself intelligent. however, i am modest enough to doubt myself, my thoughts, my skills in sharp bitter bouts through out my days - to the point of severe self-influenced pain. at some points to self-loathing humility. the only person who has witnessed this kind of weakness in me assures that it isn’t so.
my subconscious has been torturing me with reoccurring nightmares of a certain kind… for three years this june. and with a fragile mental state chipped bare from constant bouts of self doubt and minimal self worth, these images have burried me alive in my own fears. my mind is my enemy. i’ve been known to wake up crying or calling out at the end of each - always ending in half excruciating ache and half relief. (usually, eventually able to be calmed and comforted into realizing the waking world is different.) i woke up from the last one a few weeks ago -(having just dealt with a recent one before that a few days earlier which i had to snap myself out of…) i woke up quietly and suddenly this last time, peering straight ahead into darkness with this kind of calm fear on me. i felt as thought shaking but could barely move. extreme agitation followed. i could hear every sound, my eyes wide as if i never had slept. this shock lasted about a minute until i could turn and seek comfort in the arms of the man i adore. he sometimes talks in his sleep - usually grunts or muffled ridiculous words. but as i nuzzled my head between his arms and burried my face in his chest - i could have sworn right then and there that i heard him say something clear as day that surprised and shocked me all the more. i asked a question, inquired further hoping for a specific response and did not get it.
my mind, (as was just stated), had been playing cruel games on me in my dreams for years and had pushed me to the point of paranoia - searching for connections and reasons to believe in my greatest fears. i was broken. if i’d ever accused myself of mental breakdowns before - i was severely wrong until this point. it occurred to me only the next day while quietly and sadly reflecting why i heard what i heard - if it wasn’t what i thought than why were those the words i chose to hear? is my own mind and mental state not to be trusted? why do i dream of these situations when i know they wouldn’t happen in real life as rational thinking cannot permit? as well as my trust in others? can i not trust others because i know i can’t trust myself? why am i so human? is this a test? from who? myself? somehow, it is so. that even in the heartiest trusts built on people so deserving - it is not them that i doubt - but myself. i do not doubt that the people who hold my heart are worthy of it but rather i doubt that my heart is worth the hand who holds it. and if i can see it so clearly what stops them from seeing it too?
and i will close with expressing that these are my feelings, i do not apologize for them, i am not ashamed of them nor do i seek pity. i simply wish to share myself as stupid as the idea seems at times. i am an absolute pessimistic idealist. i feel crooked in mind and body and serve to say that i hope to speak, even if it is to myself.