Memory
I’ve got whiplash,
a brand across the neck.
Struck by grief,
as I try to dodge it—
I am no match.
Despair is breaking down
my molecules,
eating away at me,
and so I eat and eat and eat
to replenish myself.
Or so I think.
Mostly to keep
myself afloat,
inside and out.
I am scared
to be separated from
life;
the smiles on other peoples’
faces, animated, joyful.
I am isolated inside
my hunger.
It’s grip is so fierce,
squeezing, rocking,
safety.
I am the only passenger
on this ride.
Abandoned unintentionally,
I must search for calmer waters.
Or I will fall even deeper.
I am trying so hard;
no giving in.
Treading water.
But the others
couldn’t do it
forever either.
-------------------------------
Madness
I put the block there.
Squashing the inspirations
I got, one after another,
like raindrops scarcely found.
I evaded the pain, sealed it up
and buried it and soon
it was covered over
with a road. Like a crack
that has been filled.
I was under the impression
that I could hide
from the existence
of my own feelings,
the colors that brighten
a canvas but also
embrace the shadows
and edges.
I put the block there
like a road sign that read—
DEAD END.
Except there was no end,
I just didn’t want to see it.
Burying thoughts doesn’t kill them.
They rise like zombies
so their true voices can be heard—
and then I break.
The conscious is caving in.
Nothing can withstand the paleness
of my heart as it blanches,
I have so much to learn.
There’s no out-running myself now.
Water pops out of the road
like hydrants
swiftly weighing nothing.
The residue of deliberations
I once thought dried up,
are renewed and all I can do
is fall.
Like a heart attack,
I am pushed to the ground.
Feeling everything, seeing everything,
an uncanny rainbow
and I bonk my head on the block,
conscious, sensing as it buckles.
And this is what I get,
this is what I get for putting
a band aid on a burn,
all these words raining down on me,
scattered emotions tearing at me
sizzling. They gather like dead ashes
and become part of the dark sea
around me.
After everything dries away,
I am wrinkled and shriveled up,
unlike any other shape
I have been in.
And abandoned.
My words are jumbled
and fighting to be seen
like children pushing through.
Barriers keeping them back;
the proverbial writers’ block
has landed, not for my sake.
I did not put it there.
And this time,
I wish it weren’t.