Tag archives: hope

Past the Credits

“A poem about disassociation”


Move.
My brain is here.
My body there.

 

I need to move.
The body doesn’t respond.
My body.
I am not in control of this.
My body.

 

A cracking blur
it sends parts of me
-farther down a road I can’t see. 

 

I need to push-
I need to break the world.
Something between slips when I reach.
A wall grows taller to capture my body.

 

I will fucking climb this wall until it comes down.
I will move.

 

The wall grows higher.
I can’t control
my limbs, my blinking: my self.
I see the body on the landscape, staring
my blood is cold.

 

With the discovery of my own horror
I melt down into the depths of my brain that should belong only to me.

 

Who else would they belong to? I was born with a body that fights back.
I didn’t know it would fight me.

 

I see lists of things that are out of my control scroll past like the credits at the end of a movie that should still be playing.

 

I see the seconds count down like popcorn falling into my lap. One by one, I see my fear swallow myself, but I can’t control my throat to make it sink faster.

 

I don’t know why I need more beat for my heart,
but here I am
climbing walls going down.

 

But I give
I give my gasping breath for
another minute for
another second with my child.

 

I’m breathing with my own lungs again.

 

My blood is here, not for pain
not for a reason given from a faraway God
but for love of my one child of mine.

 

I’m ready for the next scene.

Family

“Family”


Family is a chain unbroken.
Linked in legacy and love,
forged for years in many homes.
hands over hands holding strong.
 
Family is pink laughter with green hope.
Encouraging, balanced, loving.
Always returning, opening arms-
warm, white joy surrounding all.
 
Family calls for us to care
To keep the nest tight
To ensure every embrace
that sweeps all strain away.

Brown Boredom

“i think a poem about the loss of imagination/curiosity as people become ‘grown up’ would be interesting”


The echo of brown boredom
calls us to crouch and sleep.
Drift like it doesn’t matter
-like the walls are untouchable.

 

Life is limited to time spent relaxed
every heartbeat is aimed for blood
to pump, pump, pump for regurgitating reason.

 

Days long ago were made for galloping-
exploring the scrambled for fun.
Tasting has dissolved into eating
and the rubber of our soles wear thinner.

 

It is necessary to nurture the wild.
Trap the stars in our eyes.
Cage the craving curiosity.
Weave nets to snag rafts.
We perch on waves of melancholy;
watching our footprints wash away.