Week 52

How strange is it
that time flows
forwards and backwards
but not in any specific way.

Here I am in the future
but here I am, also,
in my past.

I see the way she reached out to me
as a child,
terrifying me.
I see the way he reaches out to me now,
equally terrifying
but in a completely different manner
and I live completely caught between
these two moments.
Neither of them are any less a part of me.

That is why you see
a part of the whole,
why melancholy and joy
mold together in unanimous jumble
and sometimes a song makes me cry.

None of us are isolated,
within us,
within me,
the turmoil of perfection
mixes with the imperfection
of my childhood,
my broken relationships,
my disappearing friendships.

I write
and I write
and sometimes I surprise myself.
I am no musician but
it becomes music,
only unsung.





It is complete.

Week 51

Falling out of love
With you
Was a process,
A scientific experiment
Without a method.

I tried to test the hypothesis
But it was difficult to figure out
the right way to go about it
We were built on
Such shaky foundations,
It seemed almost pointless
To put all this effort into disproving
What was never known to be true.
At least that's what I told myself
Because I like to have the option
Of thinking of you,
It's too quiet in my head otherwise.
Emptiness is too much for me
So I selfishly
Kept myself in love with you
Just a little bit.

Did you feel the strand of you
I kept locked up in my heart?
I kept it for so many years
It grew into my skin.
true seeds planted.
It grew and bloomed
But bore no fruit
So I tore it down,
Pulled out all the roots too.

Years go by
And I'm still finding pieces of you,
Just shards now, really.
Eventually they'll all go away
And I won't wonder
If you're thinking of me today.
It's already slowed down.
In fact,
I've found a new garden to water,
And this one may be fruitful
So I'll stay here
And see the results of due process,
The rigor of scientific prowess
The way love now makes me
a little girl again,
Seeing a flower for the first time.
For that, I must go on uprooting you.
and I hope that elsewhere you may bloom.

Week 50

It is in the late nights
That I find God
In the middle of actors
And actresses declaring their love
For each other
And for words.

When they write each other
Love letters
And letters of love
Escape their lips,
I imagine Him
Saying it to me
Saying it to me now.

My dearest daughter,
I miss you,
I love you,
Be mine.

But the moment passes
And my sin darkened soul realizes
That it is alone again
And I sit here
On top of my covers
And when my head finds rest against the wall
I wait
To capture that feeling again.

Week 49

I read about his loneliness
And it struck a chord within me
And I felt music begin to play,
Music that i hadn't heard in years.

He said that the loudest
Were the most loneliest
And he was the first person
To understand
My natural disposition
My current condition
Forcing on smiles
To alleviate people's suspicions.
If I wasn't smiling
I wasn't alright
And no one wanted to play doctor
To my soul.
So I faked it for them
And kept it to myself.

And then he said it out loud
Gave it a voice
And I didn't want to hide
But I don't have much of a choice.
No one wants to deal
With the aftermath of depression,
The flotsam and jetsam
Of some hundred ships
Sunk
For no good reason.

I look at my unfinished work
They scream to me,
I scream back
But the mask is back on
And it's good at muting me,
Putting me on silence.
You would never know that was the case
If you saw me,
But that's the trick
And I guess that makes me
a magician.