Ida

Quiet love,
waiting and bright

I would sing you to sleep through
centuries of dusks

easy happy, soft heart of
the infinite now

I see you, I see you, I see you
stages of the moon, familiar

comfort, slowshine

here.

 

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I yanked this poem out by the roots for you

harvested that garden of cranial
spaghetti sauce, crusted
over/
fossilized reluctant

wrenched visibility from mudstains

I stole from the storm to give to the eye,
wanted to paint your chaos unimaginably long-skinned and
many feathered

violently dormant

the risk is proportionate to the view, always
this altitude a glory and a danger

I should be thanking you for.

Make a new friend.  Only friend in my neighborhood, essentially.  Now he’s telling me we can’t hang out because he’s in love with me. Ugh.  Not even flattering I’m just so so so sad because I thought it was the real thing.

Also.

You SHOULD love your friends.

He said he always looks for love in the wrong places.  I told him “you weren’t looking for love in the wrong place. Sex isn’t that.”

 

cavernously lonely, universe upon universe of
empty.  How terrifying it must have been when I found you.

Tell me to go away and I will I will I will>> you have my
address

you have my phone number.  I’m a quarter turn of an atom away
close as the breath

on your tongue.

 

star/blackhole

8 years of working in nursing homes.

I know what the human wants. To be
seen.

behind the shell of bodies
gardens within gardens

I would walk that maze with
you

make friends with all your dark
afternoon tea with your demons

I would stare your past right in the face.

I wouldn’t
even

flinch.

 

I was sitting in the ruins thinking how the fuck could i have let this happen again

But I couldn’t live in that house anymore. The staircases and the food in the fridge, both rotting.

4/9

I kept putting it off. Didn’t want to dismantle. Didn’t want a fire. Didn’t want to clean out the basement or walk in the attic.

But. All that rotting wood. The core was bad the foundation built out of inferior materials.

I still tried to live there. Decorated the walls all nice and ignored the flaws (that BASEMENT I swur.)

Rotting wood does catch fire. Despite everything. I want to get to the point where I’m not ashamed of that, but grateful.

Sifting through chaos

Good luck with this

—————————————————–

I was stacking my funeral pyre for the past six years. It was beautiful. Looked like a home. There were candles in the Windows drawing others to peer in and they got some warmth despite the low dosage. Felt safe.

Very few people could handle me being set on fire, and somehow being still alive. My house/body/shell. I don’t regret burning up.. letting myself purify in the conflagration. I do regret trying to yank you in with me. You’re telling me about the bruises i left and all I remember is that I really really wanted to dance with you.

Fuck though. I should have just sat in the fire and let it do it’s work on me. Don’t set someone on fire. They’ll ask you for a light if they got cigarettes.

I’m so grateful you’re still here. I tried to set you on fire and you’re still here.

Waiting for me to become something you aren’t scared of. Waiting for me to have candles in my windows.

Am I still flammable. Nothing left to flame I guess. It all burned up.

I don’t know if I’m capable of building a house of metal. Would be safer.

I could still leave the door open… it’s not like it has to be armor.

I don’t know.

I’m breaking in all sneaky

gonna steal the one thing that’s  holding you back

-hypomanic me

not sure if that’s fair

I should probably knock or send you a letter

ask.

All you have to do is ask.

-baseline (I think) me.

I’m in the process of building an airplane till it’s stable enough to sit in.

Never never never to fly again.

But still.

Walking past these store windows and I see… I see which type of wings I want to buy.  I wonder how they’d taste the air.

I don’t get to taste the air.  I’ve had the runway.  I lived there for six years.  Should have disabled it.  Jammed gum in the ignition so no key could fit.

I didn’t.  Key went in easy.  The wheels started turning.  Nose pointed straight up and y’all still f***ing dragged me back to this this this SICK EARTH.  I wanted to bring you with me.

 

 

When the sun is gone, the soul’s clarity fades.
There is nothing but idiocy and mistakes.
We are half dead, inanimate, exhausted.

-Rumi