fuck feelings

I’m sat on my fire escape as I type today. Lively wind brushes my arms and raises the hairs I haven’t shaved away. I can feel the suns shine, but it’s been hidden away selfishly by clouds ready to pour over. The cooled touch of the wind and sun keeps me alert on such a lazy day; I am contempt with my chills. The trees on my street are finally full of life and are greener than ever. Green leaves are perched and placed in bunches upon once barren branches; a thank you from the tree's inners for keeping itself standing in darker conditions prior. A gift of beauty for its strength and survival in the brute of it all.  

As I sit face to face with the skinny-kept oak tree placed on the sidewalk in front of me, I can’t help but believe we’ve helped each other grow these past few months. The branches in front of my escape have been killed off – in attempt not encapsulate the space already occupied by built structures with no room left to grow or share. Although part of the tree is quite literally dying, the rest flourishes a bright green shared by the rest of the trees on the street. An eye-catching beaut, she’s grown taller and perkier since the winter, channeling the energy saved from her dying limbs in front of me to skyrocket above. 

She seems wiser than I am. It makes sense, she’s been around longer than I have. 

The tree waits patiently for a storm to rip the dead branches from her body, to take away what is molted and rotten upon her. My eyes are caught between the contrasting branches, caught between death and living, and I realize how strenuous it must be for her to wait. While her arms don’t move in quite the same way to peel dead flesh from her body and run away screaming as fast and far as possible – I have arms, and hands, and even opposable thumbs, to do exactly that. There is no need to sit docile with my legs crossed for a terrible, horrible, no-good storm to rip what should be lost from my body – or call up the state to remove it with a chainsaw. I am fully capable of standing upon my two legs and scaling off what remains molded and crusted on me. I am in control of what is left behind.

While some pieces may have mended and melted into my skin, most of what is unwanted is usually easy to remove. The parts that have left me uncomfortable in my own can all be removed after some jostling. The aches and shakes left within don’t have to remain forever; there is no need to wait for a doctor to mend my own wounds. 

my ribs sink and crush my guts

stab and poked holes

through, inside me

which allow the light