in pieces, peace

it's cool today
and the rain is coming
a storm wider than the state
stronger than I
more determined
more intense
and I am afraid that I may drown
if I stand outside in it long enough
for it to wash away all that I cannot control
I may be taken too
carried away by the water
that pulls me under
rolls me in the current
carries me to the river
to the sea
where my body will bob
with the other fallen
drowned in Missouri
in California
and every other city
in every other state
that fears illness
and hooded sweatshirts
and being alone.
We will find each other
brought together by the tides
a human garbage patch
woven together
still bruised from the rubber bullets
and the ropes
scarred and cut
before we ever went outside
to stand in the rain
praying for it all
to be washed away.

the dream

She had hair like glass
and she stood in the church
before her congregation
and raised her arms to pray.

I watched her.
I watched her for a minute
before she was beside me,
behind me
and I turned to her
to face her
so I could read her expression
when she told me that her daughter
would be named for me
and I was to be the godmother
and her husband agreed.

And all the while,
a little boy
no more than four
sat beside me,
smiling
and wide-eyed
and never spoke a word
but was happy
and giggled.
His blond hair and light eyes
and the way he kicked his legs back and forth
as they dangled from his seat
were enough to distract me from the fact
that I had no idea who he was,
where he came from,
or that he did not belong to her
as I assumed.

And I felt so content,
safe,
and healed.

Until I realized the surrealness of it all
upon waking.

remorse for nothing I've done

I am not like the others.
I didn't learn about you
or your family
until it decreased in size
suddenly
and without apology.
I did not line up outside the church,
my feet numb against the December pavement
out of communal grief
and concern.
I did not lie awake
reading obituaries
out of morbid curiosity.
I did not write you -
send my deepest sympathy
to a stranger
because it was the right thing to do.
I did not cry for you
out of what I assumed you were feeling.

I am not a grief groupie.

I did those things because I remember you
how important you were to me
how much I respected you
cherished what I learned from you.

I did it because the wild dog that had ripped open my chest
was fierce
and knew exactly which strands to leave intact
and which to shred
nearly beyond recognition.

I hated it.

Because despite the fact that I could name the person in the box
had had a year's worth of cafeteria lunches with her
I did not feel that I deserved the grief I felt
could not lawfully claim that sadness that had built itself a home in my lungs
expanding with each breath
and then spreading through my veins
an incurable disease
that never goes away
but rather lies dormant in one's system
until a moment of weakness
a sad song
a sudden pain
sends you into relapse.

And I miss you
because I know how terribly I will feel it
if I find that I didn't tell you so
and we start this vicious cycle anew
again.

no change

daily, my
energy
falls off a cliff
effectively rendering me useless and
apathetic.
today is like
every other
day.

sticky

and I hated it
not because it didn't taste good
didn't fill me with an overwhelming euphoria
as I stupidly had expected
not because it was too sweet
but not sweet enough
at the same time
and that puzzled me
enough to distract me from the fact
that I didn't like it
it wasn't good
it wasn't satisfying
and I was yet again disappointed.
I hated it.

I hated it
not because it was so lovely to look at
so yellow
and bright
and full of promises
of sticky kisses
and sweet dreams
but only tastes like something from a dime-store
something that would easily entertain
and satisfy a child
but not me
never me
because I hated it

and I hated it

because everyone else loved it
they all raved
as their eyes rolled back in their heads
and they moaned in orgasmic wonder
at how something so little
and simple
could make them so happy
but not me

that fucking lollipop was judging me.

Chrysalis

two women
intertwined
their hands pressed together
together
they lean on each other
carry each other
stand still
love each other
and watch us sleep
intertwined
our hands pressed together
together

someday

Just once
I'd like to be
what you need
what you deserve
what you keep expecting
because this endless cycle
of forgetting your feelings
and letting you down
has grown tiresome.

And I just want a break
from being broken.

a calendar ago

there are days
when it didn't happen.
when i didn't spend the day in my pajamas
unable to turn away
turn it off
and went to work the next day
just to get away from it
my cowardice allowed
by my ignorance
because i didn't know
i knew anyone.

there are days
when i don't miss them-
wish i'd been a better friend, to her
a better person.
when i don't think of him
and how i don't know
how to be there
for his mother
his brother
who i thought of so fondly
but i let get away from me
because life is busy
and no one had any time.

there are days
when i am not consumed with regret
for not remembering
lessons i have already learned-
when i am not pursued
by sadness for something i was powerless to prevent
and unable to change
so i didn't even try.
none of us tried
we didn't know we had to
some of us did
but we were safe
and happy
and protected
not yet catapulted into madness.

there are days
when i am not randomly angry
then terrified
weepy
resolved
days when i do not pull off the bandage
to check on the healing
and inadvertently tear the skin again
open the wound
and start the process all over.

there are days like that.

i assume

anxious

it's cold out tonight
not unseasonably
but still
it is cold
and it is drizzling
the way it's supposed to
in November
but it's December
so
it should be snow
But still
it's only drizzle.
I keep catching myself
watching for your car
whenever there's a strong wind
which is more often than not.
And I just want you to come home.

spectator

she's younger than I am.
she's younger than I am and engaged.
I suppose I shouldn't care
shouldn't be surprised
shouldn't feel less than
and deflated
but it is something that I can't help most times now.
"That would be me if only ..."
as if that means anything.

It's more than me
this feeling of unimportant
how pathetic is that?

We live out our lives in comparison
and never realize that we're always better off than someone
except the one of us
who isn't.

I've come to envy all of them
all of us
the pretty
the happy
the engaged and moving on
the grieving
the trying
the failing
those of us
we can't ignore
because their pain is too loud
it would be something
and I would belong to them.

But I don't.
and I'm older than she is.
and she's engaged.