Fugue

I broke my piano
I kicked it to the dirt
I smashed everything
until my my arms were strings
until the hammers were fingers
pointing at me

sometimes I look at the corner
it was in
expecting it to be there
feeling the keys against my fingers
only to shake my head
the same way I did
when I used to play

give it up
the piano is gone
you destroyed it
you broke something
that made music
you erased a language
you could speak
you killed a god
you had touched

I’m sorry
I was mad
at myself
and hurt you
for it
I’m sorry
I had to
burn
the remains

this is not a drill

you know
the fortune teller
warned me about this
she told me
“there will be a storm in your life
one that is already there
waiting to disturb everything
and it will be a realization”
I scoffed
and thought nothing of it

I didn’t believe in fortune telling
I still don’t
but I can’t believe the fortune teller
saw this coming and I didn’t

there was a long calm before the storm
it snuck up on me
I don’t know what happened
I don’t know if it was always there
hiding
waiting for my ribcage to crack

it didn’t hit me hard
or knock me off my feet
it slithered
slowly
through my broken ribs
into my heart
lungs
and every other part of me

I’ve seen weathers
but this is the first time
something like this happens to me
usually the forecast is correct
usually I can tell
since day one
if there will be hurricanes
I guess I was too preoccupied
with puddles and mud
I guess I didn’t look the right way

I should have glanced at the sky
I could have seen it right away
but back then
my world was falling apart
and I was trying to be a home
for a broken branch

you know
even when
I was completely oblivious
to the wind growing wild
I remember it
it’s the only thing I remember

I don’t know what to do with this
catastrophe
I think it’s no longer a storm
it’s a tempest
it’s a typhoon
it’s something more
and it’s
knocking the wind
out of me

I don’t know what to do
with this realization
I don’t know where to go
there is no shelter for me
because I carry this
havoc
with in me
and it’s promising to crush me
whenever
I look at the sky

Lucy

 

My back has two scars
where my wings used to be
their phantom haunts me
mostly in the mornings
and right before I sleep

Their shadow is like a faint touch
by a gentle yet distant lover
reminding me
of my past glory
to distract me
from my present gore

Some warn you about tattoos
and how they stay forever
how you may regret them
but no one mentions scars
beware of scars
and how you get them

Some days when I wake up
from a scarless dream
in the first moments of awakening
it feels like my wings are still there
fluttering with pride
ready to carry me seven skies above

Time heals
we are told
I wish healing was perfect
I wish it was like erasing
I wish it left no residue
or memory
or scars

I may miss my wings
but I don’t miss myself when I had them
it’s ironic
I used to be a waste of wings
and right when I was starting to be worthy
they were plucked
and I was pushed off the clouds

I shouldn’t be writing about my wings
they didn’t define me
I should be writing about you instead
after all
you were the reason I lost my wings
and my reason
and almost my head

But then I lost you
and myself
and everything I thought I believed in

Damn you.

May 15th

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And here it is
the sunshine bursting from clouds
the light breaking through drapes
the beams sneaking out of cracks

The eventual morning
the awaited spring
the flock of birds
flying away

It is here
the moment of clarity
the transitional point
I had been anticipating
every second
I was awake

I want to
hold this moment
and remember it
whenever I think
it would never come again

Sometimes I forget
but I’ve been here before
I’ll be here again
and I’ll live for feelings like this
freedom from burdens
evaporation of feelings
turning of pages

I didn’t turn the page dear
I ripped the page off
like you were never there
like we were never in love

You know me
and my extremity
and my love for destruction
and freedom

I’m sorry that you couldn’t handle me
I’m sorry that you didn’t think you were enough
I’m sorry you thought I deserved better
and I was too much
but most of all
I’m sorry you were right all along.

Some nights I kick myself
for taking so long to draw the curtains
but I stop and convince myself that
I’m only human and

As humans, we’re always so suspended in our existence, in the moment
we can’t comprehend the ephemeral nature of life
we think the pain will be eternal
we think the love will never stop
we seem to forget that
only the sun burns forever
and we will eventually see the light, always

So here we are
I’ve lifted the blinds
I’ve opened my eyes
to this dawn
and it feels like
I’ve been born again.

Erase

Don’t try to fix the broken.
Pour the water.
Pull the drapes.
What was whole may never be.

Don’t try to remember the forgotten.
Flinch at the images.
Close the doors.
Pretend you don’t dream.

Don’t keep ashes of the burnt.
Break the urn.
Sweep the dust.
Don’t forget to put out the fire.

Don’t keep bottle caps in your drawers.
Own nothing.
Tell nothing.
Keep your skeletons in your closet.

Don’t wake the dead.
Don’t dig for the buried.
No safety coffins will work.
There’s no saving by the bell.

Don’t stitch the torn.
Needles will turn on you.
Threads will wrap around you.
Fabric will suffocate you.

Let the drowning sink.
Let the suffering die.
Let the leaving go.
Let yourself be.

April 14th

 

Circles.
They must mean something,
because that’s all you’ve given me.

Circles under my eyes,
as dark as my thoughts.
Circles of words I run around.
Circles of lies to keep me enticed.

Baby, I’m tired.
Of circles.
Of games.
Of indifference.

Baby, I love you.
I’m sorry,
that I have to apologize for it.

Baby, I have to run.
I won’t survive a
cut in my pride.

I can’t let you know,
anything,
about my fear of
bad religion.

Let’s break the circles,
and the cycles,
and the chains.

Let’s stop everything right here.
Bite the bullet,
shoot the priest,
kill the bird.

Baby, you’re dead to me.

 

 

When It Rains

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Remember how I told you the world made me sad,
sad like a mother disappointed in her child,
sad like my mother.
Sometimes it doesn’t.

Dear, it’s raining outside! Again!
It rains every year!
Blurring out everything,
and making encounters more romantic.

Rain reminds me of you,
winter reminds me of you,
white, gray, blue, all do too.
Let’s be real, everything reminds me of you.

I’ve always had a thing for rain.
I stay under it too long,
I ramble about it too often,
it has too much control over me.

Your face is reflected in every raindrop.
It’s in the clouds,
in the mornings.
It’s in every face I see.

Things like
rain and your face,
make me forget
moments.

Moments like

When I see trees bursting out of fences,
trying to escape their homes,
I remember that we’re just as trapped.
We’re just as burrowed.

Or how

When I was a little girl,
a young boy died in my arms,
and I swore,
to never feel for anyone.

I succeeded for the most part,
until you broke my heart.
It’s not your fault.
You see, my heart, had no other choice
but to break.

When you have a normal heart
and you feel, it melts.
But a heart that’s been turned into rock,
a heart that’s impossible to move,
has no other option but to break.

It can’t melt.
It can’t burn.
It must break.
It’s a jagged rock.

Rain soaks my heart,
softens it,
but by summer,
it’s ready to break again.