This much i know is true.

The heart is a traitor. Judas covered in blood, Judas without remorse. It slips through logic and reason like an assassin in the night. The heart wants what the heart wants. That is all.

To be beautiful is to endure pain. To be broken and bleeding and still stand up. Shattered glass is far more lovely than a perfect pane.

The stars keep shining, people keep dying and we have the audacity to think we matter. That’s humanity for you.

This much i know is true.

My head is a library.

A library in chaos; on fire, flooded, being built. I run through the aisles, on and on; looking for the answers. So certain that  it’s there, just look closer. See what’s in front of you.

All this information and what does it matter? Life leaves scars on us all.

One for you, two for pain, three for courage. Perhaps the secret is hidden everywhere. A moving time-bomb.

Tick tock,

I breathe butterflies and ashes. There is a fire inside me. It keeps me warm. It’s eating me alive.

I open my mouth to say help me, I’m sorry, I love you but all that comes out are daggers and stones.

I try, I do. But tell me how to survive when there’s nothing inside me, tell me how to live when I’m an anomaly, an aberration. Tell me how the unwanted survive.

The library is burning.

The heart beats on.

The air is turning liquid. We’re breathing water.

The butterflies are dying.

Ashes, ashes we all fall down.

I have the stars in my hands, the blades, the holy grail.

See this is how the steam escapes. This is how the gunpowder is thrown out. This is where the lies live; coiled like snakes, comforting and  constricting. This is where the truth hides.

The doors are open. Will you go through or will you stand in the flames and call it absolution? Stupidity. This is it. The time has come. Do or die.

Sweetheart it’ll be okay. It’s just a little blood. Just a little. It’s raining blood, hot and sticky. Blood like  water, blood like a solution.

It doesn’t matter.

Shut the fuck up. Don’t be a coward.

 

Blood, sweat and tears.

Poem-16

 

Imagining Retreat – Joey Chin

10. You admit nothing, I deny everything.
You are a man.
I am just pretending.

9.
What were those drawings?
Is that your form of communication with me?
Or is that how you make
sense?

8.
Your pencil lines are precise but
scaled
to your terms,
I am lost in them.

7.
It was in the early 2000s.
Our concerns were parallel.
We were worried;
you about a promotion,
I about graduation,
both which happened.
Thereafter we became
parallel.

6.
Recently I told you the difference between
attention and actuality.
how it was idea of you I loved.
You said,
“It’s like masturbation. Geographically, emotionally removed.”

5.
Love is astringent.
To purify, you must first
hurt.

4.
I asked you about dreams.
You thought I meant desires.
I was refering to the REM kind.
I dreamt about you once,
you were going to be
a father.
I remember trying hard to stay awake for a long time
if dreams were going to betray me like this.

3.
We laughed,
but only I cried.

2.
I have not caught up with
the age you were when we met.
I am always behind,
the minute hand,
the ragged shadow.

1.
I want to know which of the above I can tell
without,
before you retreat.

“Can I tell you a secret?’

Has anyone in the history of the world ever said no, no you cant’t .

Spare me your secrets because mine have been tearing my seams. I have secrets flowing in my blood and whispering in the hollows of my skull and I can’t keep them out and I can’t keep them in.

“Can I tell you a secret?’

Please don’t; I have too many of my own and they feel like I’ve swallowed stones, like I’ve swallowed glass and I’m bleeding, my hands are red and there’s no space for anymore. You tell me a secret and maybe I should tell you one in return but I’m sorry, I’m sorry I can’t. My secrets are too big and the stakes are too high and the moment has passed so let me hug my stories like blanket to keep away the monsters at night.

“Can I tell you a secret?’

Please do, I’m a collector of stories, of secrets like pebbles dug up at the beach and kept in glass bottles. A secret smells like sea salt, like cement, like blood, like nothing and like anything you want. Tell me a secret, tell me a story, tell me something to keep me awake at night. Show me your demons, maybe we’re not as alone as we think we are.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Sure sweetheart go ahead, how much worse can it get? Let’s just get it over with. And later we can watch the sky and hope there were shooting stars because I don’t want to watch something else crash and burn. If every secret was a star we would be blinded so let’s watch the night while we can and wonder if there are secrets on the moon.

Secrets

Live in the moment. The moments that seem so perfect that you want to dip them in amber and keep them forever, the moments when the sun shines just enough to melt ice around your heart and the wind feels like a lullaby.

Live in the moments just before the darkness takes over, just before your sadness washes over you like the sea and you taste the salt on your lips. Treat these moments like stepping stones, like a lifeline, like a saviour.

Live on the little things like a wanderer in the desert who treasures each drop of water like it’s gold, because it is. Live on the little things like a person lost at sea collecting dew-drops on their sails, live like this until you can’t anymore or till you see the shore. Sink or swim.

Live on the smell of coffee, the taste of chocolate, the sound of a guitar, the laughter that surprises you in the middle of the day. Hold these things close to your heart like a talisman.

Live in the spaces between music notes, in the time between thought and feeling, in the skip from one heartbeat to another. Live as if worry doesn’t weigh you down like a ball-and-chain, as if your mind wasn’t too full. Try to believe that everything will turn out fine.

Live like you have nothing to lose beacuse you don’t.There is no yesterday,no tomorrow, the sun never sets or rises and all you have is this moment. Take a deep breath and remember that your days are numbered, every heartbeat is one step closer to your grave. Don’t panic.

In momento

Inside

I think my name would be safe in your mouth.
I wouldn’t be concerned about you
misusing it
or putting other names with it.
I trust you
would keep it secure
between your teeth.
There would be no worry
of you spilling it out with vicious words.
I’d be sure that you would treat it with care
and only use it
when the setting is perfect.
And you would sing around my name.
Songs I probably won’t know but
that’s okay
because my name would be
somewhere good.
I imagine you
would only surround it
with words like
“careful” and “forever”
and “here, take my hand.”

– Megan Grace

Poem-15

Poem-13

“to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.”
― Ellen Bass