thoughts from lunch

feet twitch
restless

unable to
comprehend
the path
laid before them

rebellion

from the thankless
task
of supporting
everything

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touched by an angel

i visit death
in my mind

a hundred moments in a day

i wonder

not what death
is like
but for those
left
behind

i have grieved before
i understand
the
vocabulary
we gave death
and
dying

the desolation of missing a person

i don’t know how to die
i don’t know how to be the one
who causes such misery
by
their absence

i wonder
if they feel our pain
the dead
do they think
on
us
at
all

or maybe there’s just nothingness
a deep and eternal slumber
dreaming
of wonder

perhaps
a longing
to return
earthbound

and
fragile

to touch — once again — our beloved

silent night

back
to
front
we
lay

arms entwined

darkness expands
and
i close my eyes
against the shadows

softly
the words form
tentative

they reach out
and
test the air

seeking
something

maybe solace
maybe acquiescence
or
perhaps
acceptance

beseeching the shadows
they pour forth

softly

against
the
nights
silence

ordinary people

the worst part of suffering from madness isn’t the actual madness or whatever. it’s when you realize how many folks suffer from it in one form or another and it’s just so ordinary and mundane and everyone —literally everyone— is fucked up to one degree or another.

and it’s just the banality of ordinariness that’s the greatest tragedy.

and we all waste so much time and effort on carving out our own type of crazy when we are all just suffering from the disease of being born that we miss so much the incredible aspect of being corporeal by hiding until it’s over.

the sensations that only the embodied can experience: rain on our faces; sand along the arch of your foot both gritty and fine, rough and renewing; the scent of a thunder storm riding just beneath the summer breeze, bracing and tentative and full of wild abandon; a lovers touch on the small of your back, sending ripples beneath your skin as your breath catches, gently, in the hollow of your throat. 

true madness lies in understanding the potential of your particular brand of madness and riding the wave to experiencing every iteration of yourself that you possibly can. don’t get lost in the fear of your melancholy get lost in its adventure.

a heart, betrayed, seeks normalcy

water ripples
on the underside of my skin
as it retreats
leaving behind flesh
that is malleable and soft
awkward
suddenly too large
it is conscious of its wrongness
it seeks a normalcy that it scant remembers

i
hear
my
heart
beat

for the first time in forever
slowly
it thrums
rhythm
seeking a memory
that for so long
lived just outside its grasp

daughters of poverty

A monster lingers inside of me
Living in the dappled shade of my destiny

A tapestry stitched together from all my yesterdays
Woven through with unfulfilled promises and broken dreams

Some days I think it will be my only masterpiece

Stomping around my psyche
Broken and flailing
It destroys the good with the bad

It exists on a diet of self-doubt mated with misery

Doubt crowds
Demanding attention

The middle of the night looms while I wonder about how things might have been

Ought to have been

Instead of the ground up mess they currently are

I wonder how much potential was lost; how much energy consumed

Do we disrupt the balance of the universes’ kinetic energy

By living life in lethargy