A Bucket of Words.

I wish I could think of light
without yearning for the
one that’s supposed to proceed closure.

I was never one for dramatic declarations
but here I am
standing on the edge of
comfort
two steps away
from being bathed
in the light of
oblivion
declaring my need for forgiveness.

I am sorry my weakness has gotten the better of me.
My strength has been rendered obsolete
by my life’s inexhaustible possibilities.

I have broken down
on so many occasions I’m inclined to believe
that I was the one who placed the art in
                                                                             f
                                                                               a
                                                                                  l
                                                                                    l
                                                                                      i
                                                                                        n
                                                                                           g
                                                                                             ap(art).

Somethings you can’t say out loud,
they’re easier written
or whispered
or never even spoken.

Never even spoken
but felt all the same.

However,
everything is much clearer here
the air is crisp
and the loud noise of silence
is almost swallowing me whole.
I’m inclined to let it.

But first
I shout into the edge
in one last attempt
at a response
from anything other than my loneliness
it’s a futile act of desperation
but in the lack of a reply
I find liberation.

I’m sorry,
my apologies never did cushion
rock bottom.

Forgive me.
The edge is singing siren songs,
and I was always fascinated by flight.

Ribcages are meant
to safeguard our
heart beats
to keep out danger.
But our bodies
don’t know how to
fight off
self destruction.
So we’re still
complaining of heartache,
coughing out the shrapnel
of our ever healing
suicidal tickers.

Poking at wounds that should’ve healed by now.
Running from ourselves
but still keeping up somehow.
Seeking out land mines,
covering our ears
and holding in our breath
while waiting for our tragedies to go off.

We might not know where we’re headed
but we have been on our way
for decades.
Years of this
aimless wandering have
shaped us
to always have
one foot out the door.
The embodiment of
the phrase
fleeting possibility,
in the sense
that we fleet at any sign of a possibility.

Too used to
complaining about being lost,
we wouldn’t know what to do
with our tongues if we stopped.
Our legs grow restless
at any sign of
settling,
warning
our ever cautious hearts,
sending panic signals,
that sets us off running.

Well versed in the art of letting go,
our hands forgot how
to hold on
to what matters.
So we
decided to
assign importance
to petty things
and
ignore
all our inner desires
giving excuses
on how when we hope,
the entire universe conspires
and refuses
to listen.

I know we found each other wandering
and silently agreed to
keep moving forward
paving roads
side by side
never really intertwining.
At peace with each other,
but at war with ourselves.

But what if I wanted to
wave a white flag?
What if I wanted to
learn to close my palms around this
and hold on to the moment
instead of chasing after
a phantom.
what if
I wanted to stop running from myself
and learned to set up roots,
and build fireplaces

to warm the winters of our past
and have somewhere
to go back to.
What if I wanted to
have a rome
where all roads lead
back to
my ever present home.

Would you mind slowing down,
while I figure out where I’m headed
because if I don’t know where I’m going
how will you know when I get there?

And when I find out
would you like to come with me
and give your lungs a break
I know they must be tired.
and maybe warm your hands,
by the fire,
until you can bend your fingers
and close your palm around mine
so we can finally have our paths intertwine.
would you mind stopping?
Can we call this the finish line?

Lets give our
our hearts some peace
watch as time turns wounds
in to fading scars
and lets give our ribcages
something to finally safeguard.

1.

Last night a gypsy read my palm,

She told me to stop tracing the veins on my lover’s arms,

because they will not guide me out of my mess.

Little does she know I’ve taken up decoding his heartbeats,

their morse code will navigate me into bliss.

2.

I tried to come back.

I tried to pack up my dreams, and pickle my heart

dismantle my hopes,

to just take them apart.

To walk away and never speak

of the city that breathes life into my lungs,

and the boy with atlas arm who renders my knees weak.

3.

I’m sorry.

My hopes seem to be stuck to the back of my heel,

no matter how many times I try to scrape them on sidewalks,

They refuse to disappear.

4.

I spent the night at a sunflower field, they looked purposeless with no one to follow.

5.

I’m trying to stop thinking of religion,

only as a tool that they used to terrorise me into submission.

and trying to stifle the decades of  voices that

are so keen to remind me

that even though God made heaven

He made hell too,

and He might be inclined to forgive,

but He’s more likely torment me and you.

6.

On one night of self doubt,

the kind that exhausts your soul,

and turns your brain inside out.

I figured out what happy looks like,

I wish you were here to see.

Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pyue2N1XZ0M

I almost gave in last night,
but the words stuck to the back of my throat
like a musical note, a tune that I can’t quite hum.

Although I practiced enunciating the syllables repeatedly
the words still refuse to come.

And I’m sure there must be an end to this seemingly infinite descend
but I want to know the outcome of my collision.
Will I resurface unscathed, or will my brutal honesty be the cause of our division?

You might not know but I’m constantly running between wanting to say yes and needing to say no.
I swear there must be a graveyard where all the feelings I refuse speak of go.

But you see, last night when you told me I’m like the sun bleeding through a cloud ridden sky;
That I might be outnumbered, but cannot be out-shined.
You broke through my logic, resurrected my heart. My brain lay defeated,
surrendered control, declared my heart the winner and retreated.

And all I wanted to say but couldn’t is: I know we don’t speak in terms of love,
but love, call me home and watch me turn my heart into a welcome mat.

To all the times you fantasized about free-falling.
Fantasized about letting go, for a split second.
descending into the heaven
of oblivion
of absolute silence.
 

This also to all the times you stopped yourself.
You’re terrible with directions, but even you know that heaven is the other way around.
Your mind is beautiful for figuring out that the freedom will only last a second.
That the sound you’ll make when you hit the ground will not be euphoric.
 

A standing ovation, for you.
Because you deserve it.
Because you woke up this morning, despite the fact that you think you’re broken.
Because you shattered your heart last night when you tried to pry it open
A standing ovation because, despite all this madness,
You’re still trying.
You have not given up on hoping.
 

I know that gravity is a consistent bitch
That she keeps begging you to let the dead weight of your body slam into the floor.
And I know, that on days when your joints strain, thinking they can’t hold in all the disappointment and pain,
you promise yourself that you’ll wait just a little more.
 

This is a reply that says no.
For when your promises run out of time.
No
For when you think you’ve had enough.
For when the going gets too rough.
No.
For when you stop looking for a way in, and start looking for a way out.
For when start to think that if something’s gotta give, it might as well be you.
 

A  reminder,
that this is the only battle worth fighting.
That your wounds may be bleeding, but they’re not fatal.
This is for you,
for when hope seems uninviting,
to remind you:
it isn’t darkest just before dawn, it’s darkest in the middle of the night.

So keep on fumbling, you’re only halfway there.