Monday, June 4, 2018

What we knew            What we didn’t know (yet)


That we had been friends forever,
and always would be.       
That there always is a breaking point.       
        


You would walk into a room, and I would wave
with the biggest smile. You would laugh at my
ridiculously large smile, and
I would smile more.
  That this love, somehow became too much for you.



Our amazing connection
was bigger than everything else.


Until it wasn’t.
Until the trauma was bigger than everything else.



Even when the world around was a serious,
heavy place, we could still dance and leap with
umbrellas in the rain.


You could forget the joy, the good.


Your wound could make you cruel.


My wound could make me desperate.                     




We could finish eachother’s thoughts.


But somehow we still held secrets.





I loved you so much.
I loved you too much.





We would go get chocolate mousse for our
birthdays like the year before, like always.  


We would never get to wish eachother
a happy birthday.


You would just suddenly be gone.



You would break if I needed you too much.
But I didn’t know how much.



We would still laugh even when breaking up,
I could talk in a silly accent, you would be
listening to strange music that didn’t fit the
mood and we would laugh at the absurdity.
We could still hug and remember
all the love and hope for a future.


Two weeks later you would send an email destroying it all.
Leaving me with nothing.


Except the grief.
Which is endless.


And I would take any little moment back
to not have to feel this pain.



There were so many little things
But it was the little things that finally broke us.



And now, even the memories feel like nothing at all
Because the way you chose to end, erased it all.



We could laugh even in hard times.


And that last time we hung out,
innocently taking funny pictures at dunkin donuts
next to strange posters would be our last time.


And I walk by that place everyday
and wonder how it’s possible
that everything blew up so fast.

Or, how we didn’t even see it slowly burning.

Friday, May 11, 2018

This is the pain that was always there

the child that never stopped crying.
the fathers that left.
the mother frozen in trauma.
the grandpa, broken from war.


the grandma locked in her castle.
the sister hiding her scars.
the child that left her body.
the girl that could’ve been a boy.


the boy that never was.
the person now trapped in a body.
the father at his desk, turned away.
the mother refusing to eat.


this is everytime the child was left.
the person now tries hard to love,
but instead pushes people away.


the grandpa who couldn’t stop hitting.
the mother that still doesn’t eat.
the woman that must die
for the person to live


the name we must lose.

what we must give up,
to be who we are.


This is the loss of you.
But this is not about you. 

This is the child, afraid.
The parents, too injured to hold the child.


So it must be the person, as the child.
To become whole, to break
To stay there
To listen. 


The child and the person
Both at once
The part and the whole
The wave and the sea
The moment gone
The moment to come.


The person holds the child.
The child screams.
The person says it’s ok it’s ok


I'm here.
I'm here
I'm finally here.


I’m sorry I left for so long.

Sunday, April 8, 2018

nowhere to go

All week my heart has felt like it's been bursting from my chest.

The panic and fear of sudden and unbearable loss.

I remember this pain.

I have been burned and crushed before,
spread out like ash in the soil,
only to watch myself slowly resprout again in time.

There have been too many years spent reaching out to feel love.

What if I didn't have to?

What if deep in my self,
underneath my chest made of shattered glass,
underneath my stomach made of fire,
what if I found a part of me
within me
that loves and supports me.

My spine is there, like a trunk of a tree, holding me, lifting with each breath.

There's nowhere to go
but here.

Monday, February 26, 2018

already whole

The day the moon became the sun
She grew a long red beard
Put on her hat, and smoked her pipe
Soon after, disappeared.

And we all forgot. And we all forgot.

All the while the moon was singing:

I am more than what you see, I am more than what you see
When I am red, I’m still gray
When I am gone, I’m still there
When I am waning, I am full
I am everything at once.

And we sang back, to the moon:

Let us remember, let us remember
That we are already whole

Let us remember, let us remember
That we are already whole

---
The day the sun became the moon
He slivered into curves
And wore a silky turqoise dress
That floated in the wind

His hair out long, the curls swung down
Like rope, we thought we could climb up to him

For we all forgot, for we all forgot.

All the while the sun kept singing:

You cannot come close to me
You cannot look into me
I am everywhere at once
My light is what you see

I grow the gardens
I lift the seeds
I dry the river
And I burn the trees

But will you ever truly see me?

And we sang back to the sun:

Let us remember, let us remember
That we may never be known

Let us remember, let us remember
That we may never be known

Let us remember
Let us remember

Remember
Remember
Remember
Remember

remember

Sunday, January 14, 2018

what is a body?
what is a being?

what is mine?
what is yours?

what is this sunlight on my face?

what is this water we drink?

even this breath
was given to us
on loan,
by the plants and trees.

we breathe in to accept the gift.
we breathe out to return it,
back to where it came.

we are full
we are empty.

we receive
we let go.

we are here
we are gone.


I used to think that life and all of its little moments were culminating into something.

But the more I sit and listen, I notice that everything unravels as much as it comes together.

We're constantly weaving and being woven and also
flying away
like little seeds in the wind
spreading out life.


We're always something very important

and also, nothing at all.
mostly silence

but then

the bird interrupts,

the sound of snow melting,

the wind chime,

another bird, another chime

back and forth

and all at once

in a chorus of stillness

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