Category: Poetry & Poetrish

Through the infinite indigo
floating amongst stardust,
our carbon cruising constellations
into the black of forever
and again back into the light,
lost in this lautitious lagoon
together, billions of miles apart.
I’ll miss you when we’re gone
The warmth of your everything
isn’t allowed for long enough
Can’t we just pause time and
forget tomorrows are finite
Can’t we just hold each other
so tightly that our limbs, muscles and meat
form into an impenetrable molecule–
that no fault of space
no fracture of time
can break us apart?
I miss you already a thousand times over
and I miss all I’ve ever known
the first moment I saw you
the first moment I held you
I miss these moments
and I’ll miss them more
as I undulate unwittingly onward
towards the end of my timeline,
escaping to the elements of flesh,
alone, off into that eternal sea.

Lost inside the insanity of white noise,
Lost in the 4am magic of hidden moonlight
sonatas and staged sunrise soon to spark a Monday
spark a Monday into action as life goes about living

I
ask
it
kindly
to

// pause //

as I am
engulfed by pitch
black barely lit
by monitor glow, and
wrestle a body far past the point of no return,
into a sleepless night——————————night sleepless,
a body sweat shivering at the mercy of morning,
a morning rapidly revising its radio silence
into a rousing refrain::

Monday, hello Monday

Won’t you stay still in the darkness
for me friend? Won’t you? Won’t you
let your triumphant tune tastefully trickle in slow,
like snails crossing starlit sidewalks in solitude?

I beg of you, keep your bristling sunlight at bay
for just a while longer
Freeze your lunar light
still in the sky,
for another thousand hours,
splitting minutes into a million melodies—

Monday shows no mercy

scores of scores unwritten, unsung,
surrender solemnly to the rising sun.

We are oil and vinegar, “you,” and I, 
you — the many, the people floating around my acidic psyche, 
the world filled with those who, like oil, slip easily through life, not overthinking every little reaction with an overreaction, 
and I sometimes come close, but never close enough, 
as audacious awkwardness, accidental overshares, my
prolifically pouring purple against yellow, are at best a joke,
as I yearn to connect but remain repelled apart — 
But maybe life itself is meant to be isolating, 
meant to be filled with silent thoughts and musings, 
shared in our solitude as we pass each other by.
We might as well be stars alone a million miles apart from each other
in galaxies that go on forever and forever.
Even together we are eternally elusive and empty spirits floating across the universe for a blip of time, 
seeking connection, yet also seeking that solitude, 
seeking silence, screaming silently;
Waiting for your train to pull into the crowded station, yet it never comes. 
You sit, patiently, then, restlessly, and watch everyone get on and off 
their on-time arrivals and departures, 
as the sun rises high in the sky and buries itself 
in blood-red sunsets and those hidden behind smoke and fog and missed
because you shut your eyes for an instant and there goes another day —
another month — another year — and years upon years — 
you watch the world with open eyes and wonder 
will you ever decompose enough for your molecules to 
merge with the masses, 
when will the stories swimming in circles around your mind
that stain your satisfaction with absolutely anything 
suddenly, 
yet softly, 
turn on mute, 
and perhaps you still are vinegar against humanity made of oil, 
but you no longer long to feel anything —
to connect to anyone with improbable intensity — 
since we enter this world alone and leave it alone 
and live in a falsehood of connectivity, 
at what age, if ever, does solitude seem satisfactory?

I’ve buried that girl I clung to with these aged hands.
Six months ago I buried that girl, down she went
with your pale flesh, in that wooden casket, under dirt
and the seasons of rain and snow
I buried that girl, she will never know
Who I am now, a woman attempting to embrace
The start of what should be a joyous time
As a child, someone’s child, my child
migrates his head across my form, his pillow
in his own innocent and seemingly immortal slumber
he wakes up to cry or fuss and then drops back to sleep
in a new position, breathing in mom and feeling safe — 
The safety one can only feel when one knows nothing,
prior to growing up and not fearing but knowing grief
Its asphyxiating foreverness, its swollen solitude,
its malignant melancholy where you try to find
time to pause and appreciate something
to appreciate that despite permanent endings
there are still, somehow still,
filled with wonder,
filled with possibility,
still there are beginnings.

is short, fleeting, meaningless and yet filled with
meaning — 
the years march on,
our loved ones lost,
new smiles born, unaware
of life’s cruel joke
to fight to live the best years
never long enough, 
always too long ::
finding happiness in yesterday
a day too late.
Faking a smile and,
maybe it will fake you,
trick you into believing
that all the world isn’t fading
faster than you can catch your breath
as life is a terminal illness — 
and what’s our final wish
for however many days we have,
as nothing is permanent
and everything washes away,
no matter how much money or fame we have,
no matter how beautiful or ugly we are,
we’re here — and then
we’re not
and we’re finding the balance of how much to care
which proves to be life’s most complicated equation — 
close your eyes and listen to a gentle breeze,
a child’s innocent laughter cutting through
a world suffocating from human terror,
listen, carefully, quietly, 
look up and watch the sky
melt through the blues
again and again
and never take it for granted
because it’s going, gone too soon
so that’s life…
so that’s what this all is.
The gratitude lies with a silent turn to
another simple, uneventful day — 
in youth there was the excitement for change,
and now, all I want is for time to freeze,
for moments to wait for me to catch up
as I’ve just fallen so far behind — 
But still I have the dirt in the ground
beneath my feet, my hands,
still I have what’s left 
of today
and tomorrow.

Guilt, when you know you did a lot but not enough, when you know there’s no going back, when you know you tried but you could have tried harder, when you are devastated and angry and feel so alone and want to forget but you can’t because the wound is fresh and you’re trying to focus on happy moments these moments that should be so sweet and precious but instead your mind is lost, caught in an endless nightmare of what ifs what if what if you had followed your gut and didn’t just say something is wrong but instead you somehow made someone listen and you didn’t just wait you didn’t just wait until you went to sleep at 11 at night finally to get some rest for three blissful hours to be woken up at midnight by an emergency call to be told he is gone after all that you tried but you didn’t try hard enough you couldn’t you wanted to but you were tired and sore and focusing on creating life and also trying to save a life from across the country and you know you could have done more but you didn’t and you will forever feel that sick pit of guilt knotted in your stomach where innocence once lived but now it’s filled with the darkness of life and death and wishing you could say you did all you could and everyone else says you tried your best you in fact did all you could but I don’t believe them I don’t think I did I didn’t do enough I could have done more I’ll never forgive myself and I still don’t have the answers I need for closure and I feel so lost and alone and I can’t stop crying and I just need focus on being a good mom which is hard as it is but I’m spiraling each moment like I’m caught in a bad dream and I am just waiting to wake up but I never will because he is gone and I saw him there even though I wasn’t supposed to but then I did I saw him there in the casket and I placed on him the hat my son wore coming home from the hospital and I felt all of the happiness and hope and dreams he felt when he heard my son was born and the anxiety he felt when he heard my son was in the NICU and the thrill of knowing my son was healthy again and that he’d get to meet him one day soon and all the memories that will never be made all the chances to get to know each other even for a few days, weeks, months that are gone and — today I realized I named my son after my father even though I didn’t mean to, as my father’s name means strong eagle and my son’s name means strong and I’ve been calling him “bird” and so my son he is named after my father even if not on purpose and I’m spiraling in circles of thoughts of what if and if only and why didn’t I and there’s nothing I can do now but focus on loving my husband and son and making the most of the moments of life of all that’s fleeting and focus on not wanting anything more than what I have here and simplifying and throwing things out and organizing and trying so desperately to find happiness in all the moments of good and forget so many even though I know I tried I know I did since June since I found you there since I went every day to the hospital and tried to help you but the medical system is so messed up and the coordination is a disaster and I couldn’t advocate for you properly I couldn’t especially not after I came back to the west coast and I feel like I deserted you and you were so scared and all you wanted was to go home and you never got to you never had the chance. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m sorry I couldn’t buy you more time. I’m sorry I told you to trust the doctor when he probably shouldn’t have been trusted. I’m sorry I didn’t do more when I knew you were incapable of asking for help. I’ll carry this guilt with me to my grave — I’ll forever wonder why I didn’t listen to my gut and why I didn’t do more.