the secret? I hate marigolds

 A garden is a product of time

To that I say

Worms are History

And I've been split in half

As a child I was Marigolds

I am Marigolds still

Born of the seeds left behind

Year by Year a new generation

the same weeds

different weeds

the same sun

different days

Wondering

If I will ever stop needing water

What business does a Marigold have

Wondering

If it will ever become a Rose

Space Junk

maybe I'm space junk

sad pictures of worthless objects

orbiting in a galaxy of stars

today my anger is a plastic water bottle

victim to science

and the endless vacuum of space

I didn't go to work today

because my science forgot to make the motivation chemical

there is electricity in my brain

I have neurons and I don't know what that means

my depression 

is a water bottle in space

what a journey it is

to be human

were that I could bottle the lamplight of my childhood

 2 a.m. 

always buzzes and burns
I wish it was Christmas
I wish I was small
I wish my problems were bead collections
reading books by lamplight
I wish my mama peeked in my room periodically still
I wish I was scared of the toilet

instead 

I am 23
everything is scarier at 23
the dark never gets brighter because you get older
bandaids don't appear when you need them
adults talk to me now
like I don't need protecting 
I would have fought for that at 15

at 13 

I had grown up too fast
trauma opening doors to maturity
at 23 I'm stuck at age 12
reliving the worst days of my life every fall
and my mama
no longer peeks her head through my door

self worth and narcissus in the lake - 2019

when I look in the mirror
I see not myself
but a woman I have long judged through the eyes of others

how is it so
that I might know what they see when they
look
upon me

I have only ever been me
and my judgments are not theirs

it matters not
because my smile is not my own
my eyes send shivers down my spine for the disconnect I gaze into

my face could be
a painted portrait of a woman lost
for the familiarity I find in her smile

I worry I have become vain
for the thrill I seek in my cheekbones
for the butterflies that take flight from my flirtatious smile

because
when the woman in the mirror
is not me
she breathes the very essence of beauty

she is
the embodiment of speech
flowering syllables over gilded pages and gilded frames

a goddess
hidden among the mortals

when
I erase my name
from the face I see
she is
everything an angel might be

only

if

I am not her

because

when she gains
a name

she is me
not
the pinnacle of divinity
not
mother nature's tender creation
not
anything
a loving
living
God could create

when
she is me
she is nothing
but a face
in the mirror

memory is a certain immortality

all my life you have been a place

an event a person a thing

you're gone now 

reborn to moments and memories 

you are where I remember you

so I choose sunlight

flower petals

warmth after a cold day

 I love you

   you live where I live

      within

          a second life

             a second death

         beside me

Grief: Noun

 

 grief is not my mantle

 a flame that burns within

 

it is not a lifestyle a mood a circumstance a feeling

 it is every moment I have ever lived 

 

all at once

 

my hands empty

 of the thing I have lost

desperation

I've never know time by her name

Never flown and let myself drown

How could I begin to guess the seconds of sand given to us

Like stars, numberless in the heavens 

I was promised a lifetime

To God that means anything

I'm beginning to feel like forgiveness is weighing

I need to let go

Before I become someone anew

Before I drown the parts of me that need forgiving with you

 

I was promised a lifetime

Nobody knows what that means

I can't say I forgive you

So here you are

Dying

Always getting the last word

7 Years

memory is a double edged sword

I thought

I had forgotten the shape of your nose

now you're here

Hello

how dare you make me remember myself

let go

 I'm still learning to breath

to take the universe within me

savor her particles

keep none of them

I'm still learning to be okay with that

filled. . . ?

what is a space without intention?

lost

found. in a million different ways

spring 2019

religion

will not be contained within letters

it will not even be contained within me

religion                                       

in itself                            

can become containment if we allow it to be                     

       I've become a hollow religion                       

seeking the sanctity of hallowed ground                

I'm becoming an empty container

thinking that what I was meant to hold will save me

               stagnant

                            remnants

                                          cling to my walls

I hoard them jealously                                                                         

and don't understand                                                     

perhaps I did once

maybe I never have

SurRouNd

when I was young
Colors had Faces
letters had genDers
And spoons
Never got along with the forks

now
Now my emotions
Have feelings too
And when my pen
spills out
numbers
they tell me their life stories

4
Is my favorite number
Because she knows what it is like
To be told who she is
And 9
Will always be my CAMpfire villain
My water bottle Is a she
And she
Does not much care for tulips or birds
My pillow
Is a diVa
Who never gets her way

Months are Never just Days
days
Are slightly more than just dates
And when I spell out their names
Their letters greet each other i n d i v i d u a l l y
Before becoming the word as a whole

So

sO
So

So who am I to say I am never Alone
When every pEtal on my bedspread
Never Fails
To welcome me home

neither are nigh

I'm pulling from within

expecting something brilliant

I've forgotten

the universe is not as inseparable from me

as I am from myself

fear is a multifaceted eye

I'm afraid of ostriches and needles and words that don't mean anything
I fear windows I can't see through
hair loss and losing my teeth

I am not afraid of death

I am afraid of fire
choking lungs scorched skin eyes stinging and watering as if they could put out the fire themselves
as if they could mean anything

I am afraid of honesty
I cannot tell a lie

I'm not afraid of goodbye

I'm scared I'll die falling
that the ground will become a childhood swing and my uncle is pushing me so far into the trees
I could swear I was flying
only flying feels a lot like suspension
like disbelief
like doubt
I'm afraid I'll die falling because when the ground welcomes me home I'll spill my regret and my guts all in the same instant

I'm afraid of falling in love
reasons listed above

I'm not afraid of germs
not anymore

I'm afraid of words that were born in another's throat and still echo in my own
words that I regret
words that I'll never hear a sorry for

I'm afraid of apologies that don't make sense

I'm not afraid of God

I'm not afraid of dying
I am afraid of seeing the faces of my brothers at my funeral
I'm not afraid of goodbyes- I'm afraid of not saying them

maybe that's why I'm still alive
maybe that's why I lied
because I'm never not afraid\
that
at least
I'll take to the grave

to be seen is to be perceived

I'm not afraid of death
I am afraid of dying
I'm not afraid of eternity
I am afraid of the future

I'm afraid of relationships
I can't stand not to have them
love me
I beg
without knowing I exist

I pour myself into the distance between hello and goodbye

it is time to cut my strings and 

dangle 

from every branch I've ever broken

climbing trees

to a sky full of hope

grenade

I remember when you pulled the pin in our relationship

I weighed it in my hands
gave it back

walked away and tried to forget the fear in your eyes

now I wonder
if I'm a bad person for not allowing it to kill us both

insignificantly significantly significant

I am cosmically small. 
A tiny, insignificant speck of a girl lost to the rivers of time, helpless to the vast expanse of existence. 

And yet. . . I house thought, and heart, and spirit. 

My body is a beacon of billions of microorganisms. I do not understand my utter insignificance, but I attempt to, and isn't that significant? 

Today, I feel special as I look at the molded yellow walls of the bathroom. I feel important as my knotted curls drip water and conditioner. I could not change the rotation of the Earth if I tried, yet I am a part of the universe; That is significant.

After Image

Some part of me wants to be whole, however, my heart disagrees. My heart and my mind and my throat want to be erased. They want to disappear without a trace. To cease existing seamlessly. Balanced and beautiful in death. 

My tongue wants silence. Heady heavy silence. The kind that melts on your shoulders and stiffens your joints. My eyes, soulful soulless little creatures, want to talk. To convey through dance and sing through sorrow. 

I won't let them. 

I won't let them. 

I can't let them. 

Save my hands, that's all I ask. They alone have seen all I have done.

withered and dried

I feel as if I have somehow forgotten how to write. My vocabulary casts shadows in a barren wasteland. My metaphor has metamorphosed and died. I have no drive, no life, no will. Is this how it ends? My hands on the wheel, foot on the pedal and emergency brake on?
I'm empty. Straining for dust bunny verbs and adjectives that have faded in the sun. 
Nothing is won through my misery. All is lost in my hope.