I’ve been speaking to God about you.
Told him you’ve been wearing apathy
as a defense against loss
Loss of love,
Loss of control,
Loss of the innocent child you used to be.
Told him the way you create distance
to test the elasticity of bonds is breaking my heart,
And breaking yours too,
even if you refuse to accept it.
Told him you carry nonchalance like a chronic cough,
Shackle meanness to your tongue
and only put it back in your mouth after it has lashed out.
I’ve been speaking to God about you
And even tho he knows I’m full of complaints
He lets me ramble to sooth my restless mind
We are self-serving droids
Put together and let lose to thrive without a manual
We pronounce ourselves miracles
When without fail,
We pry and poke and detangle our way through
We smile at how alike we are
And I wish I could keep us in this frame forever
This moment of warmth and content,
Of enough vulnerability to be open
Enough happiness to forget that
a shared tomorrow doesn’t belong to us.
In between the silences there are imaginary conversations,
where we share without pause or thought
Where we hand over our random and calculated without fear.
But we’re in this moment of penciling in our individual futures
And learning that love doesn’t make null our different realities
My mother calls me her dearest,
Kisses my hand and squeezes it gently.
She swears I’m surviving solely on her prayers
Because she’s not convinced there’s a quarter of enough food in my body
Not with all the hollowness in my collarbones
I have hit a roadblock in trying to use language to navigate my feelings
The same words that paves way, stands in my way
How do I distract myself from myself in order to free myself?
How do I use language against itself?
What comes after I have puked out the last sentence of distress?
Mother said to eat a little more
For Will shall take to Strength’s heels
So I buy time with unbalanced paragraphs and reluctant doodles,
Wait for the pressure that sparks the gag reflex
So I can vomit it all out.
In a progressive society,
mental health should sit on the right hand side of the health throne
But it is left behind like a disobedient child,
It is labeled as an excuse for the elite and lazy,
It is ignored till it equates to rot.
and when it ends up in front of a white coat –
you’ll be fortunate for them not to delegate their function to God.
So artists bleed like faulty faucets for the country,
in hopes that collectively, we can fix the leak.
Darling, hasn’t it been a good year?
Someone called you home and then moved houses
And your walls did not break down
Is that not proof that
you’re made of the hard stuff
that makes magic what it is?
Does it not make you want to chase out
these ghosts of people who do not deserve
the smell of your skin out of your body?
Does it not make you queen, again and again?
Darling it has been a good year, hasn’t it?
They thawed away your heart
and you didn’t melt into a ball of despair
Aren’t you just fucking amazing?
people and things break us beyond repair
And we write pretty lines about it
and call it poetry.
But it was never this pretty,
It was never this beautiful.
These words falling off pages gracefully
cost blood and tears.
They cost the bags under your eyes
you unwillingly carried around
They cost an urge to be invisible for just a moment
They cost sleepless nights and restless days
They cost wandering minds and hours drenched in sadness
And questioning all that you ever believed in.
People and things break us beyond repair
We write pretty lines about,
call it poetry
and pretend we are fine.