Inside

Wondering when the season ends will not make leaves fall faster.

Wishing spring would swap out fall will not make summer ever after.

I know the truths of waiting, yet I do not feel their weight

If only I could see the end, I’d more easily shelter in place.

Yet as it is my truths are muddled, the skies aren’t clear and dust clouds reign

If I want to live then my life must die

Waiting, watching

And sheltering in place.

I did not know just how much snow

Could fall in such a winter.

And as it grows, and my windows close

I begin to forget the summer.

Someday I’ll breathe the light again but until then

I wait instead.

Holden

It was a blow I did not expect, it came from the wind

and down tumbled the walls I had built.

The protections were lost; my heartache-fueled rot

Blossomed up in my gut as I watched them speak.

I stood in the crowd, trying vainly to

Hide the weeping that wracked my frame.

The walls crumbled lower, my shaking grew harder

And my little loved ones began to see.

But before any small one could climb through the crowd

To attach herself lovingly to me;

You saw me, you touched me,

And your palm on my shoulder

As you slipped softly by

Brought me out of the memories

I was drowning inside.

Thank you for seeing me, thank you for caring

Though I barely knew your name.

I wish I’d had the courage

To thank you in person

But I still get tongue-tied when I see your face.

How do I thank you for something you likely don’t remember

How do I explain how deeply it mattered?

I do not think I can, and there are limits to my pen

So perhaps someday I can

Return the favor.

wuelloblack

Who has written since she fell? The dark inside, inkiest well

Dip deep your quill, scratch through your words

Spill inkblood into all your hurts.

Who has fallen since she rose? The candlelight by deepest prose

Dig out your heartache, render it used

Paint her poetry, and

Prettily refuse.

I Forgive You – an open letter (you know who you are)

I hope you see this, and not just

Every other word from my mouth,

the lilting that could be condemnation,

the rhymes that could be calling you out;

I hope you hear that I know what Love has planned

For you; beyond your storms.

I still believe who you’re becoming is better;

Is loved;

And who you were doesn’t have to exist anymore.

Disgusting

There is something sick inside me, it is

Easier to be ill

I know nothing so well as disease, I am

Better at being sick than any facet of humanity

I would otherwise display.

Fear blossoms, whispers inability

I know better the honeyed pity, the bleeding sympathy that flows

I can manage the gratitude they exude

That their lot has not fallen as mine;

I am better at belonging in the hospital bed

Than any talent I can find

Something in me longs for that familiarity

Take me back where I understand and am understood

The beeps and monitors I speak, the veins and lines that intersect at a nurse’s hand

It is far more ordered than this chaotic land

I have more to offer in the crisp-white room than in this panicked time;

I can offer mystery; blood and antibodies and metabolic panels that defy reason

I hold curiosity; extra collagen and misery

I know not where else to run when

I

Bleed

But

Someone wants my uncertain mess; this diseased, distressed, and homeless wreck

A God so clean, with want of me? How delightfully wrong it seems

But… it is there I surely belong.

Cuarentena

Where’d the sunlight go, and to where all the shade?

Both have left walking – quite rudely, I’d say.

What shall we do without darkness or light?

Wherefore the sun? Wherefore now the night?

We cannot go on in this timeless abyss, this

Spiral of seconds that do not exist.

Confined in the circle of what was and not yet is

We wait for awake – and asleep – to be fixed.

If I don’t escape soon, I fear I’ll soon give in

But how can I give in with nothing to resist?

Abandoning

Why don’t I cast a bottle into the sea

Beckoning someone to write back to me?

Surely a sailor or wanderer of sand

Somewhere will hear me and read from my pen?

Why don’t I wrap up my mind in a scrawl

Curl up its oddities, its flights and its falls,

And cast myself into the sea?

Will anyone dare to find me?

Or will I sink away into the deep?

the danger of surviving

When I heard the shout, the crash, the loud

My veins burst with fire and panic.

I leapt to my feet straight over the seat

Of the recliner, without bothering to close it.

I was already cycling through emergency mode,

Preparing my eyes for the blood they would see.

I was ready to reassure, to assist, to prevent

death

Fueled with panic-flames lapping up from my feet

Then he spoke after the cry, said, it’s okay,

I’m fine,

it was the dog that knocked something down.

I crumbled back down, my chest a vacuum

Where breath was remiss to return.

I hate that my life has been trauma so many times

But if it meant saving their lives, or protecting them in crisis

I would shoulder a thousand more panic-fires.

Though someday, I hear, they build up and the fear

Is nothing compared to the smoke.

If you’re not careful, the burning will fill up your person,

And the world will all feel the same,

And despite the extinguishers, despite the protectors,

you’ll never smell anything but flames.

Welcome home, soul

Where have I been, these years, these years

Where have I been these nights?

In what kind of hovel have I been hiding

Afraid of what courage, which light?

I’m tired and empty of what the world has

Over the conquests of fools and men

Every heart in this world, it seems

Is gaunt, irrelevant, and has been

Filled up by the sloppiest, patched up with paltry

Seasoned with promises reeling with poetry,

Stricken with senselessness, sickened with hurry

These hearts do not wait upon or at all.

I am weary of restless, nauseous of breathless

Seeking the foundation you bring.

I left for a time- and forgive me, I lied-

To my own starving heart of my means.

But I’ve reconciled here, and I’ve realized now

My future is elsewhere, it waits in the power

Of the Lion of Glory and Might.

My silence is sacred, but my praise is outrageous

And I will scream to the Heavens

That the shadows must now

contend with the Light.

stuck

There is a tension in waiting

for a blow that never comes;

Your body, crumbled to posturing

perched upon your splintered throne.

 

There are eyes tired of searching,

yet unable to close for rest;

There are lungs squeezed shallow from filtering

the quietest possible breaths.

 

There is loss multiplied by loss

in the fight to never be knocked down again;

There are waves that will never drown you, yet

you cannot ever risk submerging for a swim.

 

There is knowledge of inky black

which no one can pretend not to see;

There are stains of morbid red

where your heart rips open (every other beat.)

 

There is an exquisite agony

in never feeling home;

It does damage, it curries questions

that should never be asked.

 

You cannot learn to thrive and love

when your alertness

your caution

your awareness

when your panic will never relax