holeintheblue

One night, long before any of these traitorous thoughts had even entered my head, I couldn’t sleep. Something was bugging me and I didn’t know what, which was frustrating. It was a build up of energy with no release. 

So I got up out of bed. I went softly across the second floor, and then all the way down the stairs. My steps slowed. I studied each room with a renewed eye- I looked at it, fully, as for the first time. This is my childhood home, I thought to myself, on the verge of some profound feeling. I may forget a hundred other places I go throughout my life, but never this one. Never this carpet, never these shelves, never this room. And does that matter? Unsure, I skirted around the couches and tables to study the spines sticking out of said shelves. There was one book in particular- something religious, a self-help- that called out to me. I plucked it from its wooden stem and carried it up with me, all the way upstairs.

Then I huddled on my bed for hours. I didn’t even read it; I just stared, and stared some more. And more. Eventually I put it away and fell asleep. 

The next morning, I forgot the whole thing and moved on with my life. I don’t even know what was done with the book, if it was returned, or left to rot on my childhood floorboards.

Now, in these final moments, that night comes back to me. I remember it so vividly for something so insignificant. That, alone, seemed to make it significant. I have theories on its importance to me, none quite right. I was searching for something, that’s for sure. I was hungry.

I think… Perhaps I wanted to understand God. No, that’s not quite right.

I think I wanted to understand myself. And my brothers. How did we all come to be?

Like a moth to a sole ceiling light

And seeing the world as bright.

You’ll come back to these people but they won’t know you

You’ll look into their empty faces

Their judgment of how you left, quickly, off to the races

If you escape people they will judge you.

If you escape them, the past will escape with you.

The past left with you when you went.

And before you ask, I know all the aphorisms. Good things come to those who wait. Everyone will have their right time and place. Tortoise and the hare, I’m aware, I’m aware. 

And it’s so wide and it’s so deep It can’t save secrets you keep It won’t hold you from the flood It’s not a gift sent from above

I wish I’d met her But I half forget her And the parts I have Were only told to me.

They’re mushy and blurry And they make me worry, see- There’s a ghost, I see her, at the edge of these scenes I can’t see it but I feel it, I feel the unseen.

Sure, domestic bliss, but can’t you all see this? Sure, thank you for the kiss, but first- isn’t that weird mist?

When I was 11, I fell into a rose bush because I was running too fast. Too desperately. I was never willing to sit still for your viewing pleasure, and I am not about to start.

I may be ugly but the world is not The sun beams down to my shaded spot And caresses me, convalesces me And I can’t seem to care how I ought.

Yes, I am alone but I cannot fear When there’s a whole wide world out past my ears When the rain still hugs my dry ass skin When the elements rage and I let them win

How could I complain about this life? Well I have and I do, but sometimes strife Passes and I recall to see The blessings right in front of me.

A god-given gift by a deity: I won't kick it in the mouth, I’ll let it be-

Open-mouthed and half the talent,

To be the corner of the room,

To watch a whole crowd ahh and swoon.

It feels like needles-

It feels like need.

I think I knew, even then… the incandescence of our pure joy in strange, beautiful lights… It was magic. It was magic I got to witness- even better, to participate in. And I believed there would be other joys, but none so sharp and new as this. And I was right. I was bitterly, wonderfully, right.

Oh no, I’m molting.