It rises – like bile in the throat
like the heat from a long-burning fire.
i am tired, i am stretched
i am impatient.
It’s permeating my body the way it’s been filtering down through my brain-folds for months.
My neck is aching so quietly
My back twinges uncomfortably
It rises – the pain (the anxiety!)
And then it falls back down and quietly soaks me
to the bone.
i am losing my hold on me.
i need somewhere to rest –
somewhere away from the
wrestling, pushing, scratching, shoving
the winding ropes,
the single strand of hair caught in the zipper
but still attached to my skin
the car that refuses to start
the key that’s jammed in the lock
the toy stuck in the tree and teetering so suggestively
without ever falling back to earth
the restless fingers
the restless toes
the restless eyes and their sticky, slippery eyelids
the restless mind
the tired mind
the wounded mind
the quiet mind
endlessly screaming mind
i am tired!
let me rest!
i am tired!
let me rest!
i am tired of this aggression
i am not a hard thing
i am not a hard thing!
i am the tenderly unfurling green
i am the first sighs of light rain
i am hushed footsteps
i am small
i am crushed
i am fading under the weight of this ever-so-slight expectation
the one i constantly fail to meet
the one i have no interest in meeting
i am tired
i am restless
let me rest.
i’m crying for the broken people
the people with nowhere to go but their bodies
the ones who hurt and sabotage themselves
because it’s how they feel real
or they aren’t sure if they’re real
or there’s too much hurt inside
or because they hope someone,
will help them through the darkness
because they’re so unbearably lost
or because there’s nothing right, anywhere, ever
and this primal act at least gives us some control
some grounding in these silly, dying bodies
because we’re too full or empty, too numb or too over stimulated
or, simply put, because we are too gentle
for this cruel and violent world.
we all have our mechanisms –
a blade, a fuck, a hit, a drink –
food, no food,
to die on the surface or to go temporarily insane.
broken people – you know who you are –
i am here
you are here, too.
you are seen
you are loved.
i think it’s important to remember that love alone is not enough
a plane may have wings
but it still needs fuel to fly.
or maybe i have it the wrong way around
in that love is the fuel
it’ll take you so many places
you can drive for miles
you can crumple your trail across the landscape
but without wings –
you’ll never take off.
you will never like all of someone
but you can still love all of someone
it’s likely that it won’t be enough.
A staggering of toothpick trees
A forest threaded up the side of a mountain
Cross-stitched into the fabric hillside
No messy threads or loose ends to see.
The Sun (in time)
Threads her hillside canvas
With grass and scrub
And denser spatterings of trees
She wears winding paths
She bakes the ground hard
She threads us a pool and a waterfall
And a view that’ll stun the breath from your lungs
If you die there
She’ll bake your bones white and brittle
While she spins your muscles and fibres
Into more toothpick trees
And smudgy scrubs.
An ending none of us deserve
To be stitches into another,