Not Yet

What I could have

What I would have

I lost them, didn’t I?

I lost myself.  Who is this person

Anyway

I don’t exist I’m just an idea

A drawing on the side of my biology notes

I thought I could keep it separate

If I stayed separate from me

Then perhaps I would get better

I did think

Truly

That I would get better

You have to believe me

Although who can believe the words a shadow speaks

I have been rubbed on the cold rugged peaks of the world

And now I am dull

Facets dim - cloudy

I realize that the hand that

Held my life string and nibbled

Like some feral rat upon me

Not the me you know

But the pain and fire and oh

Oh.

That hand is made of cells

With my DNA.

So no, to answer your question

Better is not a word I would use

Not yet.

Receiving A Letter From Myself

Papa told me, ‘Mail for you!’ and I naturally thought of them and wondered which one it was this time and felt guilty for a bit because

I need to write them back.

But the letter was in my own hand, cramped tall letters like a manmade forest of red pines and I gazed at it perplexed for a few seconds

Wondering why it had been returned to me.

Had I forgotten the postage?

But no, it wasn’t the postage, for there it was in faded blue ink like the sky right now, how it’s trying to decide what it means to be seeped in darkness

It was addressed to me.

I ripped it open with force usually reserved for passionate speeches where I feel like I might rip open my chest because it hurts so

And there was my cursive

I stared again.

Then I started to read, and when I was done I was a leaky firehose

All that pressure stored up and only a few drops get loose

Blindfold

She sees herself now- or gazes

Comprehension, or apathy

Single brown eye, flaps of skin

Pupil shrunk – malnourished

Seeing is eating.

And what she’s watched

Well

One could hardly say.

They worry about her retreating

Into the cavern, into the darkness

The messy room she calls her mind

Lets tell her to face this - lets tell her to straighten

The boxes that line all of these walls

And if she is powerless

Let’s name her a weakling

Nothing is owed to the inept.

Why is she weeping?  For look-

She has removed her blindfold

Crawled out of her cavern

She comprehends now

And her brown eye widens.

What do you see?

Tell me.  Tell us.  No, it is not so.

Everything is pleasing to our gaze.

Put her blindfold back on. 

Weak are those who cannot see truth and beauty in the world.

Death of a Breath

It looked more beautiful.

Less, she thought, less of a cage

It resembled a dream.

She stood and watched the silent scene

The usually green manicured lawn

Now blanketed in white

A still river shone like liquid steel

That parted the crystals of snow

And the streetlights

High on their silver pedestals

Played the role of the nonexistent moon

Shining through the carefully trimmed trees

Leaving shadows that were as cold

And tired as the concrete sidewalks

And her breath, hot and warm

Swirled like steam from between her lips

And flew excitedly into the beam of light

Illuminating her square of concrete

And was struck down quietly. 

As she watched the death

Of her own exhalation

She kept the silence

Simply watched with dark eyes

The little wisp flutter like a moth

To the snow.

And her hand, she could now see

As she held it up to her face

Was yellowing in the glare

And she realized

The danger of dreams

Is that there are no doors

For escape.

Do Me A Favor Please

She catches her own smile

In the polished plastic of her desk

The voices wash over her

Trying to teach

She wonders vacantly, vaguely, not really consciously

If she is drowning

If she looked up maybe she would see

Some seaweed, a snail

Her heart beats an electric pulse

Inside its custom metal cage

She placed it there – herself – she opened up her skin

You might be able to see the scar, look close

She usually keeps it hidden

Her heart beats an electric pulse

That doesn’t reach her eyes

Did it ever? It must have

And she daintily picks up a pencil

Reaches with painted nails for the knob

She knows it’s there

And with a jerk, tightens

Her heart beats an electric pulse

Please do me a favor and lay your head upon her chest

Tell me it’s as strong as before.