O’s and 1’s

I don’t like knowing the last time I’ll see you was the last time I saw you

Just another memory, fading into the recesses of my mind

Melding into that silently throbbing haze that makes up my experiences

This is how I will cope, this is what holds me

Has held me, throughout the years

Words and thought and ink or 0’s and 1’s. 

This is a poem to help empty the sadness from my bones, the ache from my eyes

When I rise from this bed, perhaps I’ll feel a little bit lighter, having left some of my worry here. On this page, and scattered about the ether

I’m not surprised,  I’m mad.

Mad I allowed myself to get here

 Allowed myself to be cracked open, by my own damn crowbar 

I wish my heart listened to my brain

“Stop. I don’t want to feel this way. Stop it. Stop it. I don’t want to feel this way. Stop.”

Pools from my mouth, forming a puddle on the floor, 

Nothing but another mess for me to clean up

Letter to an Unnamed Lover

I had a good day today. I laughed often and drank good coffee and tried a new beer. It was good. Made with coconut. I sat at the bar and stared at the writing on my open notebook page. Words written while lifted with pot and booze. Something about my heart and the universe and the connection between the two.  

I talked with some strangers. Women. Beautiful. They seemed extra human to me today, set against the backdrop of a sort of nightmarish reality I see forming around me. Their eyes seemed brighter somehow…I don’t know. 

I’m writing you this letter because I don’t know who else to turn to. I need you now, in a way I’ve never needed anyone. I need you to rise up and meet me. To light me up, rip me open. I need you to teach me how to be human. How to have passion. 

How to connect.

I have a broken vagina. It stopped working months ago, well, years ago. Truth be told I’m not 100% certain it got hooked up properly. I need you to repair it. I don’t care what you’ve got to do down there, but make it right.

I know it seems like I’m asking a lot from you, but I don’t know who else to turn to. I don’t know who else to lean on. I’ve known you for so long, and you’ve carried me through so much, I just need you to be here for me now. I need you to tell me I’m beautful, whisper sweet nothings in my ear, dust off my knees when I fall down. I need you to be my steady voice of encouragement when the world just seems like too much.

Because the world seems like too much.

I need you to do this for me. For us. For this. This wild, maddening, gorgeous haze we call life. Because, lover, it’s going to get worse before it gets better. I promise. And I need you.

Paper

She was my salve,

Healing.

Bridging a gap…

I dismantled all of my journals

From back then

Sketchbooks too

I ripped out pages,

Tore some, burned some,

Saved some.

I

Stripped them of their

Collective power

Or so I thought

Paper,

I find, has a long memory,

It is not so easily lost

As we might wish,

Paper has power

I was so enthralled

Caught up in her and

Content to stay that way

Lost in a perpetual state of

Heightened torture,

Painful excitement

I was so committed to misery

Committed to wanting and never receiving,

But no, it was more than that,

More than suffering and sadness,

We shared moments of quiet

Moments where the air seemed to sizzle

Words exchanged were charged,

Moving between us,

Creating friction, building energy,

Until we couldn’t take it,

Until it cracked,

Like thunder

After rumbling hungrily in the

Lightening bright sky

Things an Adopted Child Learns:

I can’t make you want me

I can’t make you love me

27 years of learning breaks open in my chest

A seed was planted twenty-seven years ago

I just ripped it from my breast

It’s covered in blood and gristle,

It’s rough to the touch and has a foul stench

I need to cut out the branches, they’re woven around my ribs and heart and that little light in the center of me, I like to call my soul

Maybe I’ll set it aflame,

Cauterize the wounds even as the tree burns

As it turns to ash in my throat, cleansing my speech with it’s smoke, making space in my heart and around my lungs.

I think I’ll put it in a jar. Place it on my altar. 

A reminder, to make sure I keep the fire burning.

Progressions

Life has a way of shattering my fairy tales

She’s a testy bitch, to tell the truth

But I love the shit out of her

She’s all time and space and energy and matter,

Made of this world are wind and rain, land and sea

When they collide, it can be beauty, or it can be havoc, or it can be both.

I wish that I could reach back through time.

Grasp a seed, or stone or leaf

Hold it in my hand, bring full circle that from which we have come

Think, what kind of energy that would be?

What kind of sensation would that impart?

I imagine it breaking shape as it weaves and collides with moments and places and things,

Before looping itself under and around

The seed, or stone or leaf,

And pulling it back. Bringing it all together, as life condenses back into itself.

Lessons

I feel something give, even as tears drip from my eyes

I feel it loosen it’s grip around my chest,  sad, nameless thing, bound up in archetypes and love, closing out the lessons of the past few years

I think this is the start of what I’ve been dreaming about

These dreams seem to be preparing me for some kind of journey

They are becoming more detailed, more layered, climbing and falling into themselves, leaving me always questioning, always feeling for more…

Before I open my eyes, I feel myself going, feel myself realizing wakefullness is calling

What will my future hold? What waits around the twists and turns of time and space?

Time can be a cruel mistress. I move through her uncertain, but somehow sure

Knowing she will lead me to where I need to go, if only I have the strength enough, the courage enough to combine mind, with body, with spirit, with soul.