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?

Release

Don’t ask me anything you don’t not want to know

The rivers I fold up inside me are bound to break flow

They’ll well up inside and they’ll sweep out my eyes

And my tongue will spiral, earth-bound as it flies.

The memories and hauntings of before that I’d locked

Will gurgle up out on the tide that you’ve wrought

I did not ask to be emptied, you did not ask to care

Yet in the mirror I am crying, and you’re holding me there.

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

who doesn’t?

the purest energy, the jitters of possibility

who doesn’t?

I hear that song and shake my head, the

glitter catching in my eyes

who doesn’t? 

each sunrise taunting me with its time, I

have already decided so many things, after one glimpse

hope is dangerous, love even deadlier

caution to illness and sorrow and loneliness –

you are all on death row, I’ve realized my hope –

and it feels so sudden, but

i want to fall in love again

 

Who doesn’t?