r e q u i e m

There is no more sanctuary in the cold wind, there are rifts in the past, I shiver but my coat is warm. Leaves that the snow never swallowed up; you never swallowed me up.

tell me – was there any love?

I WEAR SUNGLASSES NOW. I HEAL IN THE CAR, SONGS SUNG IN THE NIGHT AIR, YOU DON’T CROSS MY MIND, THE LINE. YOU DON’T REMEMBER HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE JUST LIKE YOU. BAD COMPANY, NEVER READY FOR LOVE.

it’s in how i hold the knife. how i was never safe. So I descend and I surface, and I crash like you would through a barrier, and I ride on, sun in my hair; I’m only here for a moment. Every time you took my hand, you let it go too quickly. There is only a sand dune, and ‘remember when’s, yesterday’s scribbled recipe for doom that only sounds sweet. I, too, ‘remember when’, I thought of you before. But the water’s been boiled off, and I can’t run on steam, on melted sugar. but i hold the knife. I WEAR ARMOUR, AMOUR. TRUST IS A SLIPPERY SLOPE AND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SKI. I NEED MY KNEE PADS, TOMORROW’S COMIC, A PROMISE TO NOT LET GO. REST EASY, THE STORM IS ALMOST OVER. It’s settled down, but the wind will change tomorrow. I will change with it. There is sanctuary in greeting the sunrise. I drive into the horizon like I’m headed for hope, and the sky is pink like how my hope ought to be, all the blood of my heart and light flooding the sky.

there’s a small degree of arsenic in the vapor. the magazine on the counter says something about love lost and love found. it moves differently than smoke. less wispy, more unsure of where to go, fading faster. or maybe it’s just that there’s arsenic in my lungs. i don’t care. it’s less poisonous than doing the usual,  reading something online, then his pet peeves come to mind, or how his hand felt on my shoulder.

i have to inhale harder,  really suck the air in, drawn breath, like there could never be enough oxygen. i have to wait for the light to go on, the one saying you’re inhaling even if he’s still here. i guess all i do is inhale.  i’m holding my breath.

i’ll never love him again, i just wish i could forget too. i’d rather be reborn than remember —  there was a me before him, there hasn’t been much after.

every predecessing heartbreak, i could turn it into something for me. make a life, passionate through pain. but with him, i had missing pieces, a wishbone stuck in the trachea,  and love i was afraid i’d never know.

it no longer matters now. the passing of time crashes into me, i am different, remade, singing my song to the sea, to the stones that you gave to me. the air here is salty and warm,  my eyes are closed to a breeze. you’ve finally become an old memory, and i’m exhaling.

Bear in mind, the wolf never left the front porch, my hackles are raised, my adrenaline increasing, there’s a honeytrap on the doorknob I don’t touch. The wind howls like a reminder; I don’t need one. I hear the pacing in the background, the patience, it wants me to come out roaring from the heart, wants a war of claws and adamance, a victory, It’s too warm in here, too comforting and safe. No need to peek out the curtain, I know chaos and magic are waiting on the other side for me, I know the wolf wants to hear some rawness, a guttural roar that says how I’m really feeling, whether it’s anger or surrender, some indication. And I am no prey, despite being stalked like so, don’t ask for help as my back’s against the wall, don’t yell at it to fuck off, and don’t invite it in. A raven caws in the distance, bored, all-knowing, waiting for the inevitable, not showing any favors. It’s unfathomable, how it stepped on my territory, trying to sway me, bait me into this utter nonsense.

Howl like a wolf, the bear won’t leave its own cage. How long do I have to wait for the obvious hunger to take root, to realize it needs more than honey? Wind wasn’t enough to shake its resolve, reminder, even with my patience, never responding, ignorant. I’ve remained silent for so long, but never left once. It wants to remain resolute that I don’t really exist, staying in a self-made hibernation, acting like prey, refusing to look through the curtain for some peace, some magic in the union, in how its really feeling. The bear won’t even defend its own territory, weak, doesn’t make a true decision and leaves it up to fate. A raven caws in the distance, omniscient with Odin, knows how this all ends before I do, insignificantly. I’m letting the reins loose and arching to the moon, desperate for the recognition, aching to be heard, I’ve spent too long lonesome, wanting to align here, I am not baiting, I was begging, now I am demanding. Now it cannot ignore that which makes it whole.

It’s a soul-wrenching, blood-curdling type of howl, piercing through the air as the raven scurries away, uninterested in the answer, already knowing it to be, the bear falls to the doorway, paws covering its ears, eyes shut as the roar is let out in a wondrous boom. The trees around the forest shake in synchronicity, and the wolf whimpers in response, it knows, knows the cost of what is asked, to forget about the logistics, to take a leap with what so often feels like the foe. And there is no pretense of elation, no joy in surrender, the door tumbles forward, the wolf and bear walk on, destined to meet the man with the gun haunting them, taunting them, promising kindness, taking away hunger, tearing everything they had built separately, safely. Years of foundation, searching for some symbiosis, torn by the whims of a selfish ego, a beast in making. It is so rare that the two ever agree with each other, the circumstances had to be as dire as love and grief. Grief for the kind of love that ends before starting, for the man who doesn’t know love until it’s too late.

i am the addiction you’ve taken cover under, the way it feels to hide and not feel safe, the echo that said not good enough on blast. let’s talk about the blast, let’s talk about the cover. i just need you to find your voice first. i am your daughter, it is no wonder i can’t hear you.

i am the parts of which make a whole. only it’s made a hole.  gaps, maps, malady. my mother will never see what i do. my father will never say what’s needed.

and i’m empty, empty, empty. a sponge soaking up anything, wringing it out when i’m done, rinse, repeat, repeat - i’m still unclean. i still have your parents talking to my demons.

generational. generating what?  i am your daughter; i am the parts. i just don’t know how to be.

i imagine i’m in front of a microphone, and there’s not a single cell of fear in me that hasn’t been eradicated or disintegrated, mangled up, overruled by the whole embodiment of “Just be YOU” that people only want to see on a stage anyways.

it’s for your entertainment, love. i mean — love, it’s for your entertainment.

then a janitor thinks all i want is love, tears cascade in the elevator. i’m not sure how he’s right when i was only frightened of a beetle in my purse this time.

i think i want some kind of saccharine kiss, to choke on kindness, flushed with graciousness,  something that wraps the mic cord around my neck and makes me revoke my stance on hopelessness.

i want a mr. microphone that i can speak to, a spotlight of safety when i’m not sure, that warm, comforting feeling from a hug. but i am without sails, gliding on icicles, and i couldn’t map the ocean for you, so more shame exists in the unknown  than fickle humanity allows room for.

i stand at the podium wet and full of confusion, wondering what depths i’ve emerged from. how am i meant to explain this? that i am drowning in yesterday, of what could have been had i the courage, the fortitude that slipped when i was child, or that i very much blame the child? how much has to continually fade away for you to see where you’re standing? the water is still in my throat.

the sun wakes me up early, beats on my back until i’m sweating, until i forget what alive feels like.

my stomach is in knots and i can see the dust float like sparkles, can see it like every particle i regret, like every inch of my skin has died while i’ve been hiding from the world.

everything’s run out. the nicotine, the money, and the fuel. i have an abundance of sadness still.

siken says: “this is where the evening splits in half” and it’s ringing worse in my ears, splits in half… i don’t think i can be halved. i think i’ve been splintered, nightmares like infinite smithereens.

i wish the rabbit hole would welcome me, i could get addicted and turn to a life of crime, and finally people will give up on me, finally, they’ll see there’s nothing good left.

it’s not enough to just be sad these days, i have nothing but a ‘fuck you’ to solidarity. i still answer my mother’s phone calls. i lie the whole time and wait for her to notice.

the rent’s late. i’ve said nothing. the manager’s said nothing. who the fuck is running this game of cat and mouse? eat me alive already, i’m trying to evaporate for good. i’m trying to give everyone a reason to hate, to be a monster.

right now, i’m the misery i’ll have in thirty years, i’m the naivete i had when i was ten, i’m a shell, i’m all these shattered edges inside with no direction.

good enough? we’re past that fickle concept, we don’t care for it. we’re so lonely we say we. i don’t know when moving forward started to feel like a death sentence.

this is the lonely. i have a small list of people, and distance binds with silence. i couldn’t fear death, couldn’t attempt it. so i chose to be compelled by it, i chose to live by some unknown timeline, to be who i want to for no one else, for no shining, enlightening thought. happiness is self-defined, not chosen, i had to change my point of view, i had to reexamine the roots of my rage, return to traumatic pasts that i wouldn’t talk about, remember people who said they’d be there but weren’t. think it all horribly through and what i could do with it, what i could prove with all this self-doubt, tell the other one in your head to fuck off, tell the other one in your head that “you’ve always been good enough, you may be a spectacle, but you could be a surprise.”

and what do i know about it? i’ve always believed i could be quiet, but i don’t want to anymore, and i’ve always believed i couldn’t do it, lead a life where i can taste it, where it’s shiny and real, the life i’ve always dreamed of, and i will make my name matter, because who said i couldn’t do it? me? oh why did i ever listen to her at all?

but this bravery shows up incomplete. it’s the way the older man at the bar told me about his cars, his own business, and i thought i can’t stand this but i told him he wasn’t bothering me anyways, because it was nice to talk to someone, even condescendingly, this is the lonely, don’t forget, it’s not always pretty, i’m not always afraid to be a little desperate, to want something for a night even if it’s meaningless. and it felt so much better to walk away and leave a man knowing he couldn’t get to me, and i know i’m bitter, that it’s not always rational, but it’s part of who i am, i can be arrogant of love, i can be needy and push people away at the same time, i can be really good at pretending he doesn’t come up, but accept when he does because first loves always hurt …even when no one said a single damn thing about it. but sometimes it’s just the lonely speaking loudly, it’s thinking that something is better than nothing, and not being touched sincerely by a man or a woman for a long time can be secretly stinging, unloved can make me think twice about that old voice.

HEY GUYS! just a little note here, but i’ve officially created a wordpress and it has the same name as this, just for double reassurance that everything is indeed my work.