I need very little
We are the closest thing I’ve found;
My underwater cacophony
that quiets it all…
The outside drowned
A roaring quiet-
I desire this.
I’ve been in a lot of relationships where things have been broken…
Things that I’ve bought; things that I’ve earned;
been given, gifted-
But bones often heal and time-
Well time, it blurs the edges…
Now I’m finding myself in a lot of situations where things are being restructured…
Things I’ve been taught;
things that I’ve chosen;
been given, gifted-
But hearts often heal and experience-
Well experience, it sharpens focus.
I always knew…
“Home” was a concept.
A prompt for activating
our programmed roles;
in self-fulfilling prophecies (of doom).
Leaving me homesick
for a dream I’ve never dreamt.
Home is now known to me-
Known to be a feeling-
An intangible worry stone,
Now carried with me-
At all times;
Anchored by plasmic goo.
I thought of something nice to say at my mother’s funeral.
She’s not dying (no quicker than you or I technically am…)
But my dad is…
So I was thinking about all of the things that I would say about him at his funeral;
and that made me sad. So to cope, I decided to try and think of something nice to say…at my mother’s.
I know, I know… BUT!
I thought that would make me mad-
when I couldn’t find one (but knowingly looked)?
Well then I found one; which in turn… made me mad.
Isn’t it exquisite-
how my broken and gold;
They fuse together in kintsugi rhythm?
Knowing both paths to the desired result- consciously mitigated and yet…
Gestures vaguely at everything,
I’ve already began the process
Of grieving the products of my own imagination.
Recently implemented new rules of engagement;
Limiting all talks with friends,
all of them.
To under 5 minute long interactions.
Unless they’re my exes…
I figure I’ve dibs.
(I know! I knoooow.)
I know it makes me selfish;
Realizing more each day-
I want to be “chosen”
I NEED to be “chosen”
whatever that means…
I think I always have.
Reflecting on all the times
I felt I needed to be…
Should have been…
Chosen for me
Who I am
Not what I could be.
Not what I could provide.
Services I could render.
What I could become.
Just the real and authentic me.
Most only saw the mes
making the choices…
To make them
I found myself there-
In that place, once again.
The cavernous mermaid lagoon;
a familiar yet frightening place; bound.
It was curious really-
Realizing where I’d arrived.
When by consciously avoiding-
My unintentional destination found.
Only for a brief moment yielding-
Like Yeats’ siren:
In cruel happiness I’d forgotten-
That even lovers drown.
Used to be…
I’d come across them-
Confetti strewn caches-
drawers of forgotten notes…
I felt sad, and missed them.
Then it changed…
I’d find them and realize-
I don’t know the writer-
Ghostwritten manifestos of complacency…
I’d feel disgust, and miss me.
Today I found more…
I read them and noted-
It really was a version of me-
Just a me adapted to them…
I feel nothing, and am missing nothing.
Have you ever written out timelines of your own life?
First by years then by months-
Sometimes even “best guessed weeks”?
Did the subcategories become laborious and deserving of a separate time line?
I met someone who had lived in the same house,
Their entire lives.
I bet they never put something in their bedroom…
Then later have to recall which bedroom…
Then tear apart another room to find it,
swearing it was there, once.
Did you live in the same house for years?
Have you lived in less than 5?
What’s your memory like?
Is it chronologically fractured?
Do you use music or scent or season to place you; or
What you were wearing-
because somehow that is easier to recall?
When you think back over your life, is it like a whole movie?
Or is it like thousands of movie scenes squished into a 27 x 40 poster?
Do you have to cross reference your life against journals?
Do you spend time analyzing, retroactively, like a cold case detective…
Maybe leaning a little tinfoil hat looking for “the conspiracy root?”
Yeah, that would be crazy. Whoa.
Ok ok- what about looking, in hindsight for curiosity sake;
for the things you missed, you know, back then?
What about considering other timelines- multiverses and sequels-
A director’s cut or potential alternate endings?