Unhinged

I handed him the shovel, build us a foundation, I’ll stand with you forever, make it sturdy, give us a fighting chance.

Opened my eyes, to find darkness, trapped beneath the potential, the hope; dreams.

Screamed, lost my breath, traces of blood in the cover, trying to fight my way out, but potential adds more weight, tells me to give it more time, it’s almost ready.

Gasped trying to wait and not die, buried beneath the very freedom I sought. Another whisper, “I am here”. A different voice, the weight begins to shift.

Imagined potential and hope created the dream I’d always wanted. I listened to the hiss of air as I got closer to the surface.

Kicked away the cover, nails scarred into the wood, the ground drops, nothing lands above me. Another kind of darkness surrounds me.

I called for you, where have you gone, lying on the ground, skeletal remains, a body that I once loved, eyes blinded, defeat drooling from lips I once feigned to kiss.

I tried.

I held on to you, but heard the whisper, “you’re sinking, who will you be, if you lose yourself again”

I let you go, my arms stripped, yours filling with stolen flesh, stolen life, I crawled from you, ran my hands over our plot, found the shovel; removed the dirt from my box.

Rolled you in, hands burning at every touch, I took the cover and nailed it shut. The mewling tore me to pieces, but I knew it was you or it was me. You gave up, I knew I couldn’t. My arms rose and fell until the cover couldn’t be seen. A eulogy was all I had left, tears surged from me, knees betrayed me, hands forsook me.

I dug, screamed I would never let you go, your roots took hold of my legs, your poison already seeped and birthed from the earth to remind me I belong buried, hidden from the sun. A whisper, “how long before you truly learn; a dead man does nothing but kill a live woman, who will you be?”. But,

I can’t let you go, even as I watch the ground make room for me, I feel the pressure around my thighs. A yell, “who will you be?”, a hand reaches down to me.

I hear your cries.

I see a whispers hand, light pours from every fingertip. My wounds begin to heal, the pain lessens, tears slow, I feel the poison draining from my soul.

I touch a whisper, no longer a voice, a being, like a thread pushing through the head of a needle, the light travels within me. The edge of the plot in sight, the cries of desperation slight. Sand beneath my feet, the light now surrounding me.

I look over my should, release a sigh of relief.

I could breathe.

Advertisements

Aviril

Those days were Heaven, it usually is when

we’re in the same space, but you

leave, I move, the pages

change.

I remember before, tainting the

now, exhausting forgiveness when it

could be replenished, amidst feelings of

neglect and being misunderstood

Just say what it is,

not what you should.

Nostalgia

You remind me of my father, not in a good way.

You remind me of the ice that sets in when he makes a mistake; no flexibility, no desire to change.

You remind me of

the times he called me stupid, and she stood by and watched my face crumble in pain, yet made no move to console me, reaffirm me; love me.

the few times he said he loved me, but when it mattered he hurt me more instead of helping me heal.

the times he realized he was wrong, but never apologized.

You mostly remind me of the wall I never learned to get through.

of love half given, half shown, never fought for.

I wanted you to remind me of anyone but him.

I remember how it used to feel to think about you, the giddiness and warmth that would spread through me – even after months – I couldn’t get enough time with you or thinking of you – now – it’s fleeting – that feeling – filtered down through situations that caused mistrust and disgust – started to waiver and get lost  trying to understand the reasons why – realized reasons are lies we tell ourselves to make things okay – I won’t lie to me – they say the truth will set you free – but truth and trust are the beginning of all beautiful things – the gateway to love is closed – the keys lost….not lost but discarded for moments of pleasure – not a mistake – a mistake happens once – a choice was made – a choice I wasn’t apart of – no thoughts of me nor warmth spread – no moments stopped to think of the destruction from boarding trust and truth away.

In Passing

I look at photos of you, from before, and it feels like another piece of my ventricle is closed off. I wait for the dull ache, but the feeling burns. Memories tainted every time I go back to use them to hold on, but all I hear is “was this the real you”. Who is the real person, how real are you with me? Things I never questioned before you betrayed me. Slow and long I’m suffering, because now we don’t speak, when before hours couldn’t pass without you wanting to hear from me, days never passed that you didn’t call to hear my voice, I don’t remember what you sound like, smell like, taste like. You’re foreign to me, like an amnesia, waking from a long sleep, thinking you’d be there, yet I’m always alone, I gave up thinking I’d hear, “I’m home”, the moment is gone.

I miss you all the time, you think I don’t, maybe you don’t think of me at all, but I think of you, every single day, not for a second, but for minutes, sometimes I have to tell myself to think of something else because I can’t stop remembering how good things were when we had them; even when they weren’t really that good. You thought I didn’t love you, because I liked someone else too. You’d come home and not speak, just eat, wine, and tv. What kind of growth or healing could we have like that, barely speaking, never seeking. You gave up on life, say what you want, but I saw it in your eyes, how could I love you, and be happy, when you didn’t love yourself? These questions I always ask myself, what else could I have done to help. I fed you, made sure you had a place to move, gave you enough money to pay for a semester or two of school, and I wasn’t the only one, your father helped you too, but you liked to leave out these details, it’s why I stopped trusting you. You burrowed in your mind, made it up on who I was to you. Forgetting all the sacrifices I made, and all the pain you’d brought me, you just said fuck me. You left me with debt, bills unpaid, collections screaming your name, money you owe me, yet you refuse to speak. What type of man are you? To love a woman the way that you do? Fill her head with all these promises, just to leave at the first sign of turbulence. I wonder all the time, what I did to deserve the pettiness and I realize for you, I stopped believing. My biggest sin is I no longer saw your potential, I didn’t see the man I thought you could be, I just saw a bum, looking for his next score. That’s still all I see, and it hurts, because you meant so much more to me. Even still I love you, although I try so hard not to.

Seeking

I talk a lot about feelings, love, patience, learning, and how to be a better person. These areas consistently are shifting in my life. I imagine it’s because of the level of importance they hold in my life. Living a life that was surplussed with love in some areas, and devoid and corrupt in others, has led me on this journey on learning to love the right way. I have few great examples of how love is supposed to be done; my grandparents being the main two and one (as a unit and then as two individuals). My grandfathers love is quiet. You never hear it, but you see in his actions that it’s there. No matter what I need, car problems, house problems, prayer, he’s available to me. Until I got older I didn’t even realize how accessible he was/is to me; I took it for granted. My grandmother, or mother, depending on who I’m talking to, is my greatest hair pull and deepest source of love. In many ways I am more of her than my biological mother (her daughter). The depths of my heart are limitless to the people I love; just like her. The width of my sensitivity, and want to be understood and cared for are unmatched; JUST LIKE HER. I literally don’t know where they end. She is everything. Literally. She gave me my first car, paid for me to go to Howard Community College (where I was able to kick butt and get 3 degrees in 2.5 years), she helped me pay rent and buy food when I went to Salisbury University, and to this day just randomly will call and say “baby do you need some food or money”. I get emotional when I think about it because there is no way I would have been able to achieve all the things that I have without her. Shoot, she even paid for me to go to driving school!

Loving me comes with a price. I know this. I’m hard man. Even with all that sensitivity, getting me to be soft, getting me to be affectionate, it is HARD; especially for my blood family (and boyfriends – but that’s a whole other post). I don’t know what age it started, but it was/is incredibly noticeable to her. She’ll say “I miss you” and I’ll be oblivious and say “I’m right here” and her eyes just get sad. I have tears filling my eyes writing this because I hate that my coldness hurts her. I have this guard around my family that I struggle with CONSTANTLY. I’m distant, and when I am around, I have to make effort to be thawed out. My energy immediately goes on lock down, and for the life of me, I just can’t figure out why! It’s a goal of mine, this year, to thaw out permanently. I want to be able to go around my family and glow the way I do around everyone else. I want to stop cringing when they go to touch or hug me. I want them to see that I love them versus just hearing me say it.

Phase

out, fly back to when it started, zoom

in to that smile you had when your conversations

seemed to go on and had no end, remember the nights, where

you stayed up to look at each other, to touch, rewind,

it was a different time, everything slid from your tongues, now

bamboo under your nails can’t get you to talk, pincers pulling,

barely anything to grab, yet you try, you want to hear the

laughter again.

 

Begin to End 

They want you to do what’s best for you until that best excludes them, leaves them behind, or can’t be satisfied by just them. When you need more because everything you had is destroying you, so you have no option but to start over or die as more pieces of yourself are razored away into faux stretch marks. When your own hands need to be left behind because they leave marks of darkness across your “perfect skin”, and your mind needs to be left behind because it tells you everyday you’ll never make it without jumping off the edge, without burning everything around you to the ground, or without watching as everything melts like crayons under the Las Vegas Sun. 

Bleeding until it’s all mixed. Into something beautiful? Something abstract? Something that hardens and becomes twisted from the original rainbow of beauty? The most beautiful things can turn into something you don’t recognize when the damage becomes too much, when the paper holding it together weakens, the beauty leaks out, oils stain the paper, even when what made it beautiful is gone, it’s never forgotten. How can it be when that’s the only reason it was ever wanted. 

What is this twisted thing, feet dangling, hands gripping the rail, mind miles down searching the ground for answers never found. How long to hit rock bottom, to begin again or embrace the end. To rise again or leave the splatter of color trailing into the sea and soaking the fallen leaves. 

Don’t want the world to know I’m by myself…don’t want the world to know I’m on your shelf…There’s no coloring around us anymore

– Coloring by Kevin Garrett

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑