Pain Is The Price Of Creation

I am pacing back and forth in my apartment, trying to keep from calling you with a fistful of matches. Any friction, and I will start a fire. 

The thought of the pain I may cause stops me nearly every time. Nearly. Deep down, I don’t want to hurt you.  In times like these, I forget that I can plant instead of burn. 

I am restless and cold and in need of a blaze. It has all grown so grey. I don’t care if I burn myself or you, as long as I can be rid of the fog.

Fire is is vibrant and warm and it flickers and flutters like the universe being born– like I am in control of my life for once–

until it dies down.  Then the grey returns with a vengeance, smoke and ash grey and icy and me truly alone in their midst, with nothing under control. 

I am no god. Fire in my hands  only destroys. It only burns. 

I know we have not talked in a while, but please, let me keep my distance until the sun returns and chases away the grey.  Leave me alone until I remember my love for what grows.

will you turn my brittle body into poetry

when the cold kiss of death finally reaches my solitary corpse

will you interpret the path i skipped along

writing brilliant words of how my spirit dances in the wind

or will i be forgotten?

just to become a feast for the life that lives under the surface

scribbled lines in the once lively flesh

it was never pen ink that cherished me so

if my name has not been lost

and you happen to graze upon my initials in a history book

run to my tombstone

letting it be known that it wasn’t all for nothing

recite to my grave lovely words

soothing my wandering soul

remove my past from the chain around my ankle

let my image seep into the setting sun

allow all that is left of me to be the stanzas of a lifetime

an exhibit of beautiful words bleeding from a lifeless body

permit the future to forget the configuration of my skeletal being

but to devote their time to decipher the words you have strung together to recall my existence

please oh please let me be poetry

- sundayafternoonsedentary

i told you i loved the night we spent together

i wish i could have captured the grin you wore

so proud of the terrible things you did to me

how i love that smile

the same lips that grazed my skin not long ago

the same hands that caressed my body

the same hair that I tugged on as i made a show of your acts

it was only an act

all of the good things came to an end

the heavy breathing started

my lungs were collapsing

my heart forgot to beat

it was too busy aching to love you

wishing to be more than just a body

as the liquor crawls down your throat the phrase I love you is drunkenly forced out

fatherly compassion that only surfaces when the alcohol has engulfed your body

submerged so deeply in a drink that love is just another meaningless word

a silly phrase that slips off of your tongue with the sharp taste of whiskey

too intoxicated to hear the crack in my voice

when i tell you that I love you more

more than your addiction

more than myself

but my words are tossed into the trash

clinking with empty bottles

colliding with conversations you don’t recall

memories of an absent father that loosely maneuver through my conscience

I have to compete with a $58 bottle of bourbon

but you seem to love being numb more than raising your daughter

it’s alright dad

i’ll carry the both of us out of this mess

maybe one day when you wake up you’ll thank me for it

but for now, I love you and I can spare enough love for the both of us

The world I saw through adolescent eyes isn’t as brilliant now that I stand in it

oh lover,

how I miss us

things were simple

the world wasn’t so big

we didn’t have to be anything to impress

it was just you, me, and a sky full of newly named stars

he finally told me he was proud of me yesterday

after i had given all of myself

searching in other people what he didn’t give me

selling parts of my soul for short lived validation

but you’re proud of me dad?

all that is left of me is my heart in your hands

what i’ve become is great he says

but i look in the mirror

and i see a few strands of hair falling from a broken down body

morsels to appreciate

but finally, he is satisfied

-sundayafternoonsedentary

It’s been 2426 days since I dragged my childhood bedroom across the pavement

Almost 7 years since my love for my mother spilled from my suitcase onto the driveway

i still feel as if I could waltz into that house

Now belonging to strangers

Sit on my pink fluffy bed

And remember her screams

As if they were happening presently

The house is now home to an elderly couple

I wonder if they can feel the ghost of my younger self

Etched into the bannister

Youthful laughter in the backyard

I don’t know what part of me was left in that house

But if feels like not a day has passed since that crisp April morning

When my mother decided that I was not the daughter she had wanted

“Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another.”

— Lemony Snicket

something about falling snow is unsettling

peaceful to the eye

silencing the havoc throughout homes with a foot of soundproof encasing

sure the purity of the winter is breathtaking

but my lawn has been walked over time and time again

and the chaos is seeping out through the gaps of my snow boots

my screams echo with snow flakes hitting the ground

this chill in my bones is not serene