mute

why is it that i hear screams in the night.

when i close my eyes, and it’s quiet.

flashbacks of you, having to be restrained.

you biting, biting. i’m bleeding.

memories of you strapped down, pumped full of ketamine.

close your eyes, close your eyes. i’m pleading.

session #1

One day when I was bathing in my usual sadness I noticed butterflies on a bush in my backyard. When I approached it I was surprised to find that they didn’t fly away but remained. These purple flowers growing, not flying, towards the sun. I marveled at their mimicry. 

I wondered why life couldn’t be as simple as these charming buds. Why does this life have to be so tragic? And why would seeing a butterfly shaped flower bring me such joy? Why couldn’t I just ignore it. I wonder why I have to notice every exhausting detail.

I need some space—some breathing room. But how can I ignore your tears after you’ve seen an injured bunny? And how could I ignore your questions of, “Will I go to Heaven?”

You are a part of my world, but for you—I am your world. For you I will continue to reach, reach, and reach.

dormancy

I like the way the water seems to go the right when the wind comes in from the east.

And when I look up and squint, I’m reminded subtlety of a winter’s tree.

Barren branches just at the top and a bird giving a low, lonely call.

Within a second I’m reminded of where I am.

A place where the screeches of mowers are never-ending and the sun always shines.

The longing always remains though— to have a break from the heat and for it to be so quiet that I can hear the falling snow.

wanting

please lift me, lift me
the worms are making their way
into my nostrils as we speak
please fix me, fix me
bones are broken, can barely crawl
I am so weak
please save me, save me
soul left, sin eating me up
I’m not complete
please forgive me, forgive me

burnout

water everywhere, around me
surrounds me
puddles, the ponds, lakes, the sea
water above, around
surrounding me
my head under everywhere it seems
stuck breathing in bubbles, barely
but I’m gasping for air in my dreams

fleeting

by the time he pulled the bird
out of his pocket
its damp wings were the color
of melted butter
it was gasping, pecking ferociously
its canary spirit flapping away

after the time he pulled the canary
out of his pocket
the soldiers wept for
the absence of its sound
reason lacking, trying unavailingly
to keep any happiness from floating away

dwell

I wondered why he painted the
house the color of blood
blackened the windows except
the one on the upper left side
made the door look like a mouth
so it could devour us one by one
swallow us into the ground
to choke on the dirt, beg to breathe
pray and pray for the evil to leave

I wondered why he painted the
house that awful color of red
his brain just starting to misbehave
his dark thoughts claiming him
taking us down with him
to bear the scars, the trauma
and dream of blood
choke on it even, beg to breathe
pray and pray for the evil to leave

bogus

heard the blinds clank together
as if I’d have a visit from the voodoo man
but
I don’t even believe in him, I’d think
but
after a visit from the voodoo man
I surely would, I’d think
and afterwards tell him to pack up
all his trinkets, his tools of deceit,
his bottles of dark poison,
all his sparkling white elephants
leave me to close those blinds
and pray he leaves me far behind

passing

once they removed their monstrous

parasols and offered the sun with all its

glory, I was able to see for miles,

see past the stains and all its gory.

walk past my long-limbed friends,

feel their gentle boughs crack upon me

and

wonder if that west window still

offers the view of diamonds and trees.

then without time to think, to blink,

they decide my time in the warmth

is done. parade their parasols atop

of me – flaunt like they won. close my

eyes quick and capture the burn, bid

the orange blaze to stain my gaze for days

and

weep over how much I’ll miss the sun.