Week 70

I think of you
Underground
Ice cold.

There is a warm blanket
Of ice and snow,
Around you.
I look down
And I can see your
perfectly preserved
Face.


Can I lay there with you
Keep your body warm
With mine.
The thought of you being there
Night after night
On your own
Is unbearable.

It should have been me
But the universe is never fair,
Only chaotic.
It doesn't give explanations
Only situations
And lets us deal with it
In whatever fragile flawed ways
We attempt to cope.

I just want to curl up next to you
And keep you warm,
Fall asleep next to you
Forever.

Week 69

I lost my virginity at 22,
My cousin at 29.

I lost my innocence at 6 maybe 7,
That one I'm still not sure of
But I know it was stolen from me
At a very young age,
You can feel it when you press on my hips
The way they withdraw and hide.

I lost my fiance at the age of 28,
And I gained love back
At the age of 28 and a half
In the form of a dog
Who lost a leg
But gained a home.

No one likes to measure
The weight of life
In the form of loss
And gains
But what other measure is universal.

If you ask me what I think,
I know life isn't a measure
Of loss and gains
Because emotions aren't calculated
By gravity or weight or anything else
We can place a scale for.
Maybe life isn't a measure at all,
Just a cheap deck of cards that are dealt by inevitablities
And the universe keeps playing
Poker, cheat, blackjack against me
And I, with no ace up my sleeve,
All bets against me
Place my downtrodden chips
In the pot.
Every turn,
I'm all in.

Week 68

I feel myself getting sucked back in
Even though I never left

The hospital is cold and dry,
It makes my nose hurt,
My chest hurt.

My eyes ache
From holding tears back.
She asks me why,
I don't know why.
She asks me how,
I don't know how.
She asks me if she's alone,
And I tell her
Truly she isn't.
That much I know
Somehow
Even though mostly I know nothing
Except darkness
This same old darkness
 That threatens to close around my head
 And box me in.

I don't know what pushes me forward,
I only feel like I'm being pushed lower.

Week 67

I'm a romantic
Even if I don't want to be.
I was created to be a creature of love.
Why else would my eyebrows
Be so dark,
My eyes so big and round
So deep that everyone who
Looks for even a second too long
Falls deep Into the well,
The walls
As old
As the oldest trees on Mars.
Why else would my hair curl
Down my back
And frame your face
As I lean down to kiss you,
To envelope your lips
Your tongue
Your mouth with my own
Drawing yourself out with every breath
I take.
"Come to me, trust me, be with me,"
Every touch of mine
Whispering those words in your cold dark ears.
You see I was forged
By the distant boiling stars
To wake you up,
Shake you up,
Breathe life into your brittle bones,
Into your tender sides,
Into your spiny crustaceous heart.
"I'm a romantic," I whisper
Into your tiny body
Curled up into me,
Desperately seeking a love
You need but cannot give,
That you will never be capable of.
Don't worry,
I'm a romantic,
I knew that already.

Week 66

And when you come home now
To your now emptier house,
The colours in the walls
Are diminished.
What was once a brilliant purple
In the morning light
And a warm orange
Blanketing us in the daylight
Remains colder, greyer.

You pull back the curtains,
The view is of the ocean
It is stark and calm right now.
The ocean is as unpredictable
As the human heart,
Before your eyes it changes
Taking on shapes and memories
Of the universe before you
And after you.
It reminds you of the ocean in your own heart.
It reminds me of when I tried to swim with you.

The house is sturdy yet
The foundation built by experts before us.
And even though the house shifts,
You remain standing
And grounded.
You know you have a house still.
Days will pass
And each morning the sunlight
Will warm up the colours a little bit more,
Drive out some more of the grey
Until one day
With your little boy, you'll repaint
All of it together.

All houses carry happiness and sadness.
Greyness isn't the absence of light,
Just another shade of black and white.
The foundation is strong
And the house is sturdy,
And in the back of your mind
Once in a while
The memory of me swimming with you
In the navy blue ocean
Will make you smile.

Week 65

I want to think about life
On other planets.
The cold empty loneliness,
The noxious gases.

I want to think about the colour
Of the sky
And about how I want it to be navy blue
And gold,
But the reality
Is that the sun
Would be too far away,
And the sky would remain black
For most of the day.

The stars don't change,
Only I change,
Transform,
And become an alien
In my own skin.
I grow scales of resilience,
Of grief long passed,
I resist and I triumph.
On other planets,
I am a monarch.

I do not want to visit home
After years asail in the sky,
Even if its only in my own mind.
But I do
And the warm winter air
Causes my skin to shine.
Time passes by,
I once again walk through this world
Of loss
One step at a time.

Week 64

Colouring in the lines again
I am black and white
And grey.
It makes me wonder what colour I should
Start with.
What colour is humanity?
What shade
Or stripe
Or splash of paint
Can begin to reveal things
About ourselves,
About yourself
That we didn't already know

In some universe,
In some plane
Of existence
I am brilliant,
I am all the shades of
A fire
Burning hot,
Burning deep.

But not in this plane,
Over here
I am colour
Redacted.
And it is a fight trying to fill me in,
Fill me up.
But every day
I wake,
Stare at my black and white reflection,
And try to fill in one cell at a time.