I live my life through the words I write
Drown the sorrows,
the struggles, the insecurities
in the liquid
that warms your mouth and throat
and leaves a fire
in its wake
to validate your acknowledgment.
How many times have you
tasted this burn,
felt it smoldering for hours and hours?
Tell me,
does it make things better
or worse?
I turn around,
take a look back at my past self,
read old journals
relive near-forgotten memories
and I think of her.
I yearn for her,
the young girl who thought
she had it all figured out,
a naive romantic
a dreamer.
What would it be like
to step back into those worn out Adidas shoes
and take in again her optimistic hopes
of the future, of the world beyond?
I ache for her pain,
revel in her happiness.
Some parts of her remain
in me
and other parts
I wish to recover from the buried sand.
Watching the needle
dip down, down,
closer to the bottom
and yet,
I keep on going
wondering how far I can go
before the last drop is used up.
Just a little bit farther.
The light comes on.
Just a little bit farther.
Between me
and my inner self
what is there left to do
but fight for her,
the inner me?
I need to set her free.
Riding through the waves of the day
from high to low
and only a short while on the even.
From good to bad
and mediocre
several trips per day
makes for an aching vessel
when the finish line arrives.
Every day
the map fuzzy, unclear,
uncertainty
of sharp corners and rolling hills
remains a certainty.
Every day.
My memory is a peculiar thing
taunting me with the past,
focusing on loss, heartbreak and anguish
than those moments of acceptance and joy
in stark contrast.
The more I remember, the less I remember.
Memory skews the reality of what
once was, of truth.
It must view this as a game,
how far can we deviate from reality
and still make her believe,
and build her future based on these?
When memories are distorted into a
new, thwarted figure
what do I have left?
What can I believe in? Lean on?
The more I remember, the less I want to
remember.
There it is.
I thought I had lost it
let it fall through my fingers
all the while watching
it fall.
At the last moment
with focus re-tuned
reaching, grasping,
I caught it.
There it is.
Heat growing, building,
turning a darker, deeper shade of red
with each passing minute.
Transferring,
separating particles from each other.
Expanding,
until there is nowhere else
for the steam to go
but up
and out.
Eventually
the same will happen to me
as it has before.
With no where to go
but up, and out,
my lid will rattle
and bounce around
making music.
A new color
rooted in natural with a new
hue of freshness.
Fresh ends cut
to absorb the new life around them,
time to start anew.
Sometimes the things little
expand into vast valleys
calling out for explorers
to test the new terrain.
I dreamt of you last night
or at least
I thought it was you.
Different than I remembered;
different beginning
different ending
different us.
Ah, what might have been
and what will never be.
Dawning Words 