Tiny Thoughts.

42

421

Do you weep for everything I never was?
Turn a blind eye to the stacks, piling around in my mind, stacks of what?
Nothing, I'd say.

Silently.
Drowning.
Quietly.
A requiem of life and death,
Straddling the lines between the tangible and intangible.

And;
I vomit words,
To please this mind,
And you'd ask,
Why vomit when you may speak?

What are words,
In a deprecating society.

What are voices,
In a world so desperate to become deaf.

What are words to the ignorant,
What are voices to the weak.

422

My mother was chronically sad.
As if it clung to her,
Digging holes in her clothes and eating patches in her yarn.
Sadness always had an inclination towards her,
The feeling had always been in love with the way her eyes stared at me.
But she had always refused to call herself depressed.
As of the word itself made any difference in how she felt,
As if calling herself the word made it become any more real.

423

The world,
The walls,
Snap and twist, break, bend, and whimper,
Around us.
The gravitating presence of our hearts.
It powers the walls,
Commands ease.
Do not come forth,
I am not the one to please.

424

I heave these breaths from my heart,
And vomit these words from my mouth.

425

I am a mortal boy king,
Leave me be.
With my crowns of twigs and sticks and my imagination of dragons and dragon riders.
Do you remember love, little mortal boy king?
No, unless the embrace of reeds against my tiny scrawny legs is love I can't believe so.
But I am a mortal boy king.
My crown made of markers and flimsy yellow paper.
Leave me be.

426

You spend your whole lives in training for relationships.
A school my parents must have taken me out of.
What does it mean?
How does it be?

427

Even poetry has left me now.
Left me the empty shell of who I could be.
Left me feeling empty inside like the end result of unsatisfying sex.
I scream into this void.
Hoping someone hears.
And I spend every day surviving in hopes that one day along the path maybe I'll stumble back across myself and laugh,
Ah, there you are.
But this trail is so long,
And I am too tired.

428

There's a bone of a calf in my heart.
It's spirit haunting me as I move. The sharp edges of it narrowly etching their sorrowful words into my own.
Why.
Who.
Where.
When?
They whisper.
But I don't reply.
Why?
Well.
There is a bone in my heart.

429

I made friends with the children of flower nymphs,
The white butterflies of the field grazing our faces and asking if we were okay when we fell.
The dragonflies our guards, their swords beams of crystallized sunlight, pushing us away from danger and protecting their monarch Queen.
I remember the queen.
Watching her as she stepped with gentle courage and fearlessness through her garden of a city.
Monarch queen of midsummer Eve,
Impart your strength on my friends, on my little purple violet sisters,
So that they may not have to go away at the touch of Mr. Jacks frosty fingertips.
Let us stay together,
In this field,
With cattails brushing against our faces as we laugh, holding each other in loving embraces.
Take pity on a mortal,
Or turn me too into a small violet,
So that I may be with them forever.
And the earth may become our grave.
And we may never feel the crushing weight of Winter's loneliness hatching in our chests again.

430

Oh Ana!
When will I see your gentle face return.
When will I see the girl I grew to know.
Where will I find her,
Buried in a grave of her own wrath?
Dispose of this anger!
Wipe those tears from your face.
Smear the smile away as you sob at your misfortune.
Your anger ebbs from your body
and it scared me.
When will you ever be the same.
You fight me with this blade of sunlight, built of the masculine energy of the gaseous and distant father, our sun.
I fight for our mother.
The moon.
Someone who was there for you.
For us.
I fight with justice.
With emotion.
And with fearlessness.
Lower your weapons.
I do not wish it to end like this.
But if the universe insists.
So be it.