#spilled self

— A note to my own other self.

Alone is a clearer cold reflection of self as popularly perceived (Rejects’ experience might know better what or why things won’t be favourably seen than those accepted without question on willingness & the choice made to conform to dictates of majorities)

After midnight cloaks me in rooms absent of other pulses I often find myself gripped by a desire to swallow words And envelope myself in the warmth of people unknown to me, Not strangers, but love interests worth knowing. Worth being with. Someone who would bandage my flayed outline. Loneliness has drunk of my skin often enough to leave Cracks. This drought of caress, this withering Of romance never realized, is a sink hole and my spirit, Which I thought to be on solid ground, falls into darkness Like a solitary creature into its unmarked grave.

I am made to live. Grains of sand in an hourglass are too numerous to count. Each tick on a clock, an anticipation of what happens in the next minute. I have lived so many years in expectation of time passing That I never listened to the concerto of each fraction of earth’s movement. My body is a concert hall. My words are notes. The way people interact with me is what allows me chords. Memories are held dear because moments have the capability Of playing out in harmony with your surroundings. The most melodious of times are those in which friendship Leans into your ear as a soft breeze; wind chimes record experiences And nothing stills the chaos of life like distinct bells Of which we can never lose focus. I may not always remember speech or appointments But I will recall how people made me feel One thousand times out of every one thousand pondered. I will remember who hugged me, who hurt me, who healed me. I am made for tears. When my cheeks dance in my own rain, I am blessed. When I have joy my twitch is tango. When I have sorrow my scrunch is salsa. Every time I cry I at least know that I am alive, so let’s celebrate. I’ve left so many people behind. No one lives forever But until a person passes I can let them know they matter. Every invitation is a thank you. Every phone call a proposal To engage in a marriage of your voice and my ear. Happiness is in the eye of those you behold and call friend. Joy is a team exercise and mourning is definitely a group sport; Let us play our hands face up and face up to our obligations. I don’t want to lose people who matter. I want everyone to feel they matter to me. I want everyone to matter to the universe. I want our matter to disperse into clouds of the infinite. Our smiles will be constellations, Our bonds will be solar systems. We’ll sink all worries into black holes And leave everything behind that brings pain. Maybe God was born from a good idea And the will and strength to treat others well. My hope is borne from my realization That my inclusion with people who listen Means so much to my soul. I can be a better listener. I can be a better communicator. I can be to others what others have been to me; The only thing left to do Is to bring others to where I stand and see How important each of us are. How important you all are to me. I am made to speak. What are you made for?

He didn’t know her darkest secrets. Or why “smoke gets in her eyes” He never heard the story of the girl and of what she loved. God. And her family. And chamomile tea. He never got to hear her sing. He never got to see her dance lightly on her feet. He never got to feel her touch long enough to move him He didn’t know how lighthearted she can seem but how profoundly enthralling she really is. He never saw the batting of the eyelashes that stopped the tears from flowing. He never heard the cricking of the door to her heart. Tattered from being mistreated. All he saw was a girl. The one he met unexpectedly and walked away from carelessly. He didn’t know that he left. But she stayed. And she remained. The girl he never got to know long enough to love her. Like she loved him.

Who are you?  Take the time to meet someone today.