In the Glow

Buzz—the bee on my pillow
Was your voice in the Glow.
Always in the Glow!
Tap tap, Bright Eyes,
Are you real?

We speak through those hollow
Hearts turning a red glow,
So when I sing or you sing
We fall again into dreaming.

Blue window to blue window
Flecked with charming star glow—
Occasional turning storm—
A cold grey yet so warm.

Catch the bee on my pillow;
I always find you in the Glow.
Press the image to my throat,
Silent scream, defeated note.
If I knew your eyes bright
Out of artificial light—
Heel to heel,
Free to feel—
Are you real?

 

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Anxiety

When I accidentally let it in, it sneaks in through a single breath—one seemingly ordinary breath in a normal rhythm—so I never see it coming.

In through the nose & out through the mouth, in through the nose &—oh God!—

Heaviness like the color black drops straight into my chest. The sudden weight shatters my equilibrium, sending my eyes & thoughts spinning into my head. All around the fizzing, dancing, pinprick lights, I see threatening shadows creep in from all sides, like a dark wave swelling over me.

Am I drowning? Am I falling? Is the top of my head floating away? No, no, it is only in your mind.

My body is frozen with a chill that starts at my ears, crawls down my neck, my back, my arms. I realize then that my mouth tastes like blood, but it is a phantom smell; I triggered a reel of “teeth falling out” dreams to play. The fear of losing control circulates in my brain. My heart jolts & then quickens; my eyes widen; my hands shake; my teeth clamp; my stomach twists itself in a knot like a fetal position; & I can no longer breathe.

How again do I breathe? In through the nose—no, I did that. Out through the mouth?

I let it all go. The panicked parts of me immediately start to balance out again. I know I should keep breathing, seek the balance, but I am scared to take another sip of air.

What if it is there waiting for me? I’m sure it was hovering just above me all along…

I clutch my chest & focus my eyes in front of me.

In through the nose

A normal taste, a normal rhythm. My heartbeat slows. A minute of even breaths passes. I sit up straighter in my chair.

Just as quickly as the anxiety came, it left, & the day resumes again.

I never see it coming.

 

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For Our Good

What words could fully incapsulate this human experience? I’m fairly certain there are none. For example, none that could describe such a mix of worry & disgust at my failings, yet simultaneously explain the undercurrent, the electric, jittering pulse of giddiness I feel about my hilarious carelessness & unjustified rebellion when I indulge in drink.

None of this matters! I… I should have left a long time ago! No—no, I’m sorry—
Indeed I think I meant it, & I’m glad I finally said it—
HA!
—you are so upset! I wish you could see how ridiculous you are being, dear.
You 
do know I don’t mean a word of it…

The verbal & written language is so peculiar. It’s all we have, really, to attempt to share this experience in the most explicit way. Yet even as we torture ourselves with trying to write it down “just so,” it always falls short. Even the wordless language of art or music, generally accepted to be universal… No, no medium can inject you with the exact same madness of emotion as I am experiencing at the moment—or any moment of one’s current fancy or otherwise

That’s why I’m certain there is a God. Nothing we create can truly translate this thing to one another. Yet I know deep within me I am wholly understood by something or someone. It’s all innate, don’t you think? We just feel it, we know it—when it really comes down to it—that we’re not as alone in our thoughts as we melodramatically think we are sometimes.

This visceral existence. This constant, fearful wonder yet infected with this unpredictable strain of emboldened pride, the force that compels us to keep fighting against the truth, the heavy, subconscious knowing we are but mere specs of dust.

What a paradox! I do love the mystery! Bless me—I am terrified & in awe! Bless me–I am hopelessly, fabulously intoxicated & full of joy at the moment, with the realization that I am pathetically human. Human & therefore perfectly, beautifully, a disastrous mess-of-a-thing.

And for God’s sake, do bless me! If you could just see me! I’m positively a-flutter. Admittedly, it is not just for the love of my God & the experience of this life that I am a rambling fool…

Can I tell you a secret? I believe I have been all but proposed to! Ah, but can I be sure? If he is under the same mist of bliss I am currently raptured by? Excellent question, my brain… Let’s think on it until we are rendered an anxious heap—the logical thing to do, undoubtedly, to be sure.

Oh, but if it is true… we should be engaged by the end of the year! And I shall not die young & unmarried as the wicked demons in my nightmares tell me!

What an effect this elixir has had on us this night, my love. But I trust our Father is working—working in all our ravenous sin & ridiculous impulses—all things together for our good.

Broken Pieces

You cannot leave me—you are mine.

You are not?

I distinctly remember you calling yourself worthless, is this not true?

If I pick up a broken bottle from the street & call it mine, no one should object to me doing so—especially not the bottle itself crying out! And how peculiar that would be. Not only because of the obvious miracle of an animated bottle, but because it would be absurd for it to object to even the slightest change of scene. Come now. The bottle is discarded, empty, broken, essentially dead; it belongs to no one because no one wants it.

But in me picking the bottle up, calling it mine, choosing to keep it, choosing to want it – in that process I have given it a definite worth, given it a special meaning. What was once a nameless thing is now identifiable: it is mine. 

‘Love is as much a choice as it is something that happens to you.’

I have chosen you, my love. I have picked you up, every broken piece of you in this miserable state. Even after time & time again of cutting my fingers & lips on your splintered edges, even after your silly objections for me to place you back into the misery from which I plucked you out, I have chosen to keep you. I call you mine.

I see the possibilities! I see the glints of light in the glass of your eyes. I have hope that one day you will again recognize the beauty & brilliance of your substance, not slowly dissolve in the hopeless acceptance of your condition.

And I have hope that one day you will truly see me again, look directly at me again—not through me, like you have been, like I am the mere broken bottle I once was, too…

I am not a broken bottle anymore, am I? Someone out there wants me, has redeemed me in my brokenness, has found me worth saving, haven’t they? Oh God! Oh God!—

‘Love is as much a choice as it is something that happens to you.’

Oh, my heart, how I do love you. How I cherish every fragment of your soul.

If for nothing else you should always know that you mean something because you happen to mean everything to me.

I pray you are the one to treasure my broken pieces as I treasure yours.

 

 

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Standing There

There is a voice I hear, I swear,
So much like yours—a trick unfair!

For it is like you are stopping by
To see me, like in another time.

Deny not the old you, so keenly aware
Of my presence, me standing there,

Avoiding eyes. I would be bright in face,
Vivacious, staged well, just in case

You turned your short or shaggy head of hair
(I do not know now which mask you wear),

Allowing the attempts of your stormy glance
To convince my daft heart of a hopeless chance—

Oh! Again I hear it and must turn my stare;
A new factor of sound entered in the affair:

Your voice, yes, coupled with your name,
Too much for me to keep up with the game

Of pretending that I do not know or care
About your presence, you standing there.

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Sacrificial Leaves

leavesandshoesEDIT
 

 

 

Often I forget
That leaves are alive,

And all those that fall
Are all ones that die.

I am dismayed by the sight
of the fleshy green

Slowly enveloped
In a dry, sickly sheen.

They fade in the shade
of the Good Father tree,

The mighty immortal
Who let die each leaf;

The mighty immortal
Who sacrifices to sleep.

 

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