Cloud’s Writing

I hate the word resilience, The way it dances on the tongues of therapists and relatives.

“Oh you’re so strong and resilient!” Resilience is the word reserved for those who've seen too much. Resilience is forged by malice and hurt. Resilience is forged by survival and no other choice.

l have been caught in the tides before, But nothing so strong has ever torn me apart.

In the distance I can’t even see a shore, And there’s a thunderous ache in my heart.

It’s realizing that the next time I go home,  You won’t be there. 

Across these halls, like a ghost l will roam, How ls any of this fair ?

I want you, I need you. You may have annoyed me at times but you weren’t any less loved.

Together, we had to see this through. 

I try to sit down and draw you casually,

But I get obsessed in the details.

Anytime I put pen to paper,

I seem to fail.

How am I supposed to show all the ways I see you?

There’s everything to admire.

My eyes continue to dart and dance,

Like one gets lost to the glow of a fire. 

So instead, I’ve settled for something a little less,

Cause I just have to get it off my chest.

Until I turned 18, I could get myself to dream.

I could lay down in bed, and concoct something for my brain to hold on to;

A plot that it could use for the story as if flipping through a magazine. 

But now at 19, I can only stare at the ceiling waiting for something to appear.

It’s hard to make up things anymore;

It’s like my brain has gained this sort of creative fear.!

Sleepiness is pulling the blanket away.

Kindness is asking you to stay.

Pleasure is just getting to hold your hand.

It’s a collection of little things and big moments.

Some nights you make me cry,

      Some nights I make you cry.

Some days we get to spend together,

      Some days we have to spend apart.

You’ve become a stain on my soul; Not like a pizza again though. A stain in 

      the way one colors a piece of wood. 

Your differences have become a part of me. Your similarities have become

      ingrained with my pores.

Each speck of time spent together is a speck I can love. 

Maybe we just existed with eachother.

Maybe we had conflicts with eachother.

Maybe we shared our love with eachother.

In each moment, there’s still something I can appreciate.

Because after all, we’re growing together.

My favorite things infect your mind, 

And all of your favorite things make me think of you. 

So all of this is to say, become an important part of my life.

And it’s with you, I’d go through any strife. 

For all of our similarities and all of our differences, 

I am an artist. In every sense of the word.

I’ll let my senses guide me to my next creation:

Feeling the grooves with my hands,

Smelling the earth,

Seeking shape,

Tasting the world,

And listening to the air it breathes.

Like the earth, I am not just one thing.

I am an experience.

My memories tell the story of life,

In the last 3 years, there has been this bench right outside of where I work.

It’s rusted and overgrown with lichen, I never gave it much thought.

But now, 3 years after toiling away I just have to stare.

Does it know that this, right here, is the last time I’ll be in this lot?

After years of loving my job, I’ve never felt so degraded.

Does this bench see my tear-stained face and remember

when it was wrinkled with smiles?

After years of being invigorated, I’ve never felt so lost.

Does this bench remember every time I’ve locked my car?

In this kind of setting,

The lonely bench is the silent friend with which we share a bittersweet end.

Through the brush there is nature’s bench.

A worn log, tufted with a sweet-smelling moss.

It’s fallen over, a stump as proof to the side.

Nature’s growth is thankful for its loss.

If I were a weary wanderer, would I be able to rest?

Would this bench feel like the greatest respite?

If I were a woodland fae, could I have gathered my friends?

Could this bench be a place of connection and fondness?

In this kind of setting,

The lonely bench is not so lonely.

I want to run away, but I know it’d only lead me back to you.

You say it’s okay, if my thoughts are too much, too loud.

I’m allowed to take a break and go for a jog,

That you’ll be there with iced water for my return.

There’s so many stressors in life on top of my anxiety.

So I’ll go for a walk and take a break.

It’ll be a moment away from you; you’ll be a little lonely.

But I’m going to come back with a medal.

So if I need to, I’ll go for a jog (or knowing my health a walk)

And I’ll come back all sweaty, but ready.

I moved in in the fall, I move out soon within the spring. I think about the beginning and how it seems to hit a wall.

Maybe I wouldn’t hold so much despair in going, If I had amounted to something a little more overflowing. But instead, with all the academia I’ve learned, My personal life feels like it’s taken a lesser turn.

There are friends and communities we’ve left behind, All in pursuit of this greater mind?

I can now label dimensions and blueprints, Yet my morale feels like it’s taken a hit.

I know I’ve had fun and happy times here upon this floor, But I know I can be something more.

So I ask why I’m so sad about leaving, And I realize it’s because I feel like I no longer have a story worth weaving.

I came in the fall, I am leaving now in the spring. I may have learned new things, but I feel like such a lesser being. I’m scared to return because of so much loss, Has this journey really been worth the cost?

I want it to be worth my work, But I’m no longer getting better. My health has stagnated, if not declined. I know and remember this year having happy times, But right now, my sadness and disappointment feels inclined.

Disappointment in not finding a community on campus and being isolated. Disappointment in losing parts of my self: like friends, family, and flexibility. Frustration that we couldn’t be improving. Forgiveness because for as much loss we have gained: Pleasure with a partner who loves and treats us well. A calm euphoria in reclaiming an old hobby- pottery. Joy in trying to perform poetry. Hopefulness for a better way and a better me.

It’s something sweet. It’s something silly too. It’s a little scary just how much I love you.

You are a conglomeration of every single love ideation we’ve ever had. 

Our love doesn’t stand still,       But we move forward together, growing and learning.  I don’t have to ask you why you love me;       You tell me every chance you get.

You are the love letter.

You are the domestic love we’ve craved,       Even when we are miles apart.  I would burn the candle of your smell every. night.       And when I don’t it’s because I have you right next to me.

We get to exist in small moments,       Never fearing the goodbye, because I know there is always next time. We keep our moments sweet and simple,      And when they’re not, we experience them together anyways.

You are impressionistic, you are the definition of sublime.

I stare at you in awe:       for all of your beauty holds so much power,       for all of your grace, you could destroy just the same.

Today I saw a man stop and smell the flower bushes. 

He looked almost embarrassed, hesitant, in his action:          head turning to see if anyone would catch him in the act.

It makes me wonder how often we by society are ridiculed for stopping and appreciating the moment. we are told to stop and smell the roses, but when we do, we’re mocked.

When I stop and smell the flowers, they remind me that life? Can be good. These flowers won’t be in bloom forever. The air won’t always smell sweet.  So I will stop and I will appreciate these flowers when I can.

There are days when I am crumpled and forgotten in the corner. They have no need for my comfort.

They take comfort from simply breathing, from the fact that they are living. In these moments I could not be more proud to be forgotten. For it means they have grown and no longer need my support.

There are days when they are crumpled and forgotten in the corner. I am held tightly in their grip and I am wettened by their tears.

They take comfort from my embrace, from the fact that I will always be there. In these moments I make sure to wrap my worn fabric around in a warming embrace. For in these moments, they have nowhere else to go.

Anxiety has settled into these old young bones of ours. They ache, creating echoes along these hallowed halls.

If the body is a temple, then we are an ancient pyramid. Our mind is the mummified pharaoh, And the grave robbers are every insecurity we’ve ever had.

We have all of these defenses, these “booby traps”. But they take take take every precious jewel we’ve ever owned.

So we stored our heart and emotions safely in jars at the cost of our empathy. But they continue to snatch them away anyways.

You ask how I continue to rise. It’s because It’s all I know how to do. Too many eons have passed otherwise, she coos.

I know I should care, but I do not have the energy to. Rather, I will try to treasure what I have. Finding the sparkling diamonds formed in the pressure of my ashes, formed in the pressure of my continuing continuing on.

If they choose to fan the flames, that’s on their mortal whims. It will be them dying in the fire, while I continue to rise higher.

You ask what I could possibly gain. It is simply the pleasure of life. Thriving in spite of dying.

Each death shows me that I am capable. I am capable of gaining new life, new joy. I gain the ability to understand my place in the world.

Oh Empress of Ashes, You prove to be resilient even in the face of gloom. How are you able to look outside of all this doom?

I am so grievously sorry if we ever made you feel bad about yourself; It was always a reflection of our own doubts, of myself.

You are so wonderfully good to us and we are scared of what that means. We are not used to being vulnerable; for it is so so so scary.

You love wonderfully and we’ve never gotten that before. It’s always been me, myself, and I, And when it wasn’t, it was because I was there to handle their vulnerability.

All intensely experienced emotions in the past have been bad. So when I experience this Good so intensely, it screams at me. I do not let this excuse my behavior though.

I may have needed the space to sort my thoughts, But it’s really just the walls coming back up to be fought.

We realized intimacy has always resulted in negativity in our life. We are not used to it being something good; for you have been so so so good to us.

You feel wonderfully and we’ve never had such good experiences before. It’s always been me, myself, and I. It’s new having somebody to trust and to lean on, who can handle our own vulnerability.

You offer such intense emotions: compassion, understanding, respect, humor, love, fear. And the fear is only because we are scared to mess up, scared to be someone like my sister. I am not my sister though, I never have been.