#dovesweet

The autumn air brings an invigorating chill As colours turn starker In contrast.

Red, your cheeks; bright, your smile; Hair and skin glow Golden hour.

I begin to understand The faraway sun has solely offered light For a pallid Monochromatic world.

You, A prism; A kaleidoscope.

Unforgettably, the pall lifts And every colour cascades Through my retinas.

I am alive again; I want to hold your hand.

I begin to understand I am  Already doing this.

do people really cease to exist? is it fair that after two generations they’re no longer remembered? when they brought so much joy and light to their loved ones in their own time... who will remember them then? when they deserve to be remembered. preserved in memories, etched in the carvings of the intricate universe.

maybe to some people remembrance is not the greatest honor, but i do think that it’s the least that they’re loved ones owe them. why is no one equal even in life and in death? even in flesh or in thoughts?

the mind isn’t built to hold all memories in. it is feeble and fickle. it is not to withstand so much grief that your own stomach reacts so strongly and thinks that the contents of it is the physical form of your misery. dispel it, mind says, as it cannot bear the weight of loss. but it’s not enough and you’d just be left not only with empty and aching stomach but also sore heart and mind and soul and then who would be appeased?

i say the mind is fickle, why, because it cannot decide if it wants to let the memory of those who passed on stay or if it wants to be calm and acknowledge that everything is not forever. i say mind is feeble because it cannot stand against the chemicals and processes it produced on its very own. the mind controls the heart but it’s no surprise heart wins out because mind is so easy to bully most of the time.

you are waiting in between-

ans Meer

to the sea.

i learned how to speak seven languages by the time i was young. they were not what i thought they should be.

in each one, the word for world had no other meaning.

der Welt, mein Herz is a terrible terrible place.

is this why we flee? на море to the ocean, to the sea?

when i said language, i did not mean русская or deutsch or română; i meant a different sort of words.

how to show fear and regret and to speak angrily, with no remorse.

crying long hours, how you say, like the rainstorm.

there is no native language for grief because we are all fluent speakers.

there is a grammar for happiness that must be learned.

when i was smaller then, not of body but mind, i asked how you knew it was really the sea.

how it was not simply the red overwhelming everything else you saw.

i do not think i was really asking about the sea.

even know i do not know if the sea is what i mean when i say it is what we are all seeking.

weltzsmurch we are all world weary.

perhaps the sea is red because everything else is blue.

and the question still remains- if i say happiness in one language will you understand the meaning in another?

please understand i mean no harm.

für mein love, my love, my love, the sea my love, my dragoste my love, to see my love my love my love, is red.

in a place between words we cannot communicate and somehow we are all waiting in between.

спасибо, there is a way to reach the ocean from here.

is there an ocean everywhere around us.

in my mind the sea is red and my mind the sea.

a language of neutral patterns, waves, timing and frequency.

i cannot seem to rid myself of the sea and the sea cannot rid myself of me.

from speaking in a manner of many words i have only learned this:

the word for world is weary of being used in such a small manner.

and we have yet to set out on our own infinite sea, the red one we wade through.

of cut down trees and men. in every language the word for hatred is spelled like knife in back, in throat, in heart you do not have.

hatred is the killing of something not your own.

a small body rests am Meer too tired to know the consequence.

we are the word for emptiness and conscience.

we the only word that matters.

thudding on rocks, thigh(s)craping down the sides of trees. I am holding a hand the size

of a fat raspberry, and it belongs to a boy who needs me

but I am full of h o l e s a n d

I can’t keep him warm full full full full FULL of so, just so many holes. I think if I died, I’d still be tired.

Bone tired.

dry-heaving,

can’t feel from your elbows down tired.

it’s like looking at the sun when I hold him; staring at proof of your worst fear, but loving it so much that it splinters bone.

here is birth, life. grown inside me, and one day I am going to die.

your fingers

don’t have to mark every mile of my skin, to call me yours.

my lips

don’t have to taste every inch of your being, to call you mine.

/

and yet,

i wouldn’t want to see blueberry nectar dripping from anybody else’s mouth but yours.

wouldn’t want to close my eyes and jump off of anybody else’s fingertips.

/

you know,

someone once told me that i taste better than his last. “i“ he said, “have never liked the taste of blueberries, but yours has a familiar sting”

/

which made me think...

who was your last? what does she taste like?

do you still have blueberry dripping from your nectar mouth? does she?

/

darling,

what does it feel like to rest in the light of her temples? or feel her chest pressing against yours?

darling... can i still call you that?

/

you see..

i’ve never liked the taste of blueberries either.

but i still got accustomed to your sting.

The sun is full and dripping blood this morning

I cracked every one of my ribs and

Expected you to feel something

What am I supposed to do with this heart?

I need to bury it deep so no one will find it

I need to run and hide so I won’t feel this

so that’s progress, right? Apparently, my rapist watches Adventure Time.

I stumble across the things he gave me hidden deep in my closet and it’s almost like he’s a real person again. He breathes, and sleeps, and brushes his teeth. He binge watches anime on his memory foam mattress.

He was never a monster, just a man.

This body was never a foreign vessel,

it was just mine.”