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Sometimes I feel it behind my eyes. Like a pressure. Just reminding me that it's there. An acknowledgement.
But rarely does it bloom into that sad wet thing.
Running hot down my cheeks.
I've never been someone who cries much.
But then again I've never had much to cry about.
Just never had much.
Crying over nothing. The lack. The absence never made sense to me.
There is a feeling. A sadness. But no tears.
I wish. God I wish.
You'd give me something to cry about.
Wanna feel that release.
What I wouldnt give to feel the static in my limbs again.
For as much as it makes me jump and twitch at least I can move.
For as distracting as my restlessness is at least I am not still.
Not frozen by the empty space between my skin and my bones.
Left hollow by the absence of motivation; Of want for anything.
They told us to aim for the stars, that even our failures would be rich.
They didn't tell us that in exchange our victories would feel cheap and lifeless.
I have to fail to feel.
Past, present, and future king
And when he walks the earth, the forests parts like the sea in wide curling waves, rocks and trees falling by the wayside.
Roots curl from his path. Dirt and sand pulling away until only stone remains.
The earth cracks and it emerges from the very mantle like Atlantis from the deeps.
Smoking spires stand tall on soft walls cooling in the breeze. The smell of luckless underbrush permeates the air with it's sizzling screams.
Once he reaches the steps it is solid beneath his feet. A new palace and old king.
Believe in Me
I told them:
.
I had believed I was a messenger of
Heaven;
I still believed I see
Devils on my mirror;
I can believed that my
Beliefs hold me, and I speak beyond my blood
And colour—an organ, carrying my identity with it, pumping my life and no
More than it that.
.
I was made of flesh, born, and see the basin carrying water
To be baptist as newborn under the cross,
Under the view of my
Religion. I assumed, it was
Like many others I witnessed as young kin
Of church.
.
And older, a day, a month, a year, in another country later:
Icy-veins I felt from the fingers to my arms, to my toes, frozing in untangilabe scare, alone
In my dark, dark room.
I was 12, weeping and thought:
I wished my hesrt to resist, let it be stone
So I would not cry, to simmer my anger out
Why not!?
.
It rejects
I reject it:
And heart pounded, my tears
Crinkling from my eyes, hanging off my eyelids
Down, down, to the floor
To my
homely
floor.
My throat chokes
I cannot keep it still.
.
My mind reeled to a story of a memory
I hoped to think I truly do hold dear: My silly mistakes, my promises,
My lies,
My childhood: I was living
Off the floor, a computer and I was
Everywhere, nowhere, but grounded
In my little corner of the
Room.
.
Don’t let me forget you, child.
.
Forget to pray, to beg, to be arrogant,
Be nothing but the silence you permeates
Around you.
.
Don’t forget this lesson, child
You born under the cross,
Once aquianted with the church every Sunday
At mass
And now you see yourself not
A follower
But a lover of arts
And a hyprocite of your religion,
Learning alongside them
And you see it, oh yes,
So close and you are there;
So far and you are the only one here.
.
Be still my beating heart.
.
It asks, “What are you, if nothing
But a walking dead?”
.
I believed to be an animal, a person,
Speaking, recognizing, engaging,
Walking on two feet.
.
It asks again, “Are you true?”
.
Again, I told them:
.
I believed because the rest of me
Can cry,
Can twinkle my toes,
Can laugh,
Can hate,
And love.
I can move and heart,
My dear heart, the holder of my being: “You are alive.
And I am alive.”
.
I can think, therefore I am here. I am living as you,
and
you as me.
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