the birds pick and scratch
fossils lay behind them in the brush
dusty footprints with tiny claws seeds scattered in a rush
travellers on century winds;
short wings, long journey.
without end, never tiring
stretching on across the years
forever and a day, the finches do their work
blind to the bones allowing them to live
cataracts clouding what time has yet to give
the albatross soars silent over
the seals leaping in the surf
no stopping to this endless day
the finches in their sun
sit bright, a lively cast
while burning up their past
the islands blaze
the waves rage
the seabirds dance
they fall into the lower bowl
themselves the sands of time
perhaps the clock will never fill
perhaps they’ll never die
like the years — and centuries strong,
slow and steady — time goes on.
idk man i was in a mood to rhyme two lines at a time
by day the bright sun burns our skin
it sears our hearts before we begin
at night the moon will heal our pain
and lets us love until the day
these celestial dragons, their wings made of stars
fly through their nighttime like we run through ours
the starlit serpents we see are of flesh
their scales shine bright but they are unlike the rest
of the bright fliers gliding through galaxy winds
as they look back at us, their terrestrial friends
the sharp scent of pine wafts into the room
it tickles our noses like a soft breeze in june
our bedsheets are wrapped round our legs and our chests
as we lie there together, two birds in their nest
your long golden hair glows like the sun
illuminated softly, so beautifully undone
you pull me closer as the breeze moves the blinds
kissing my forehead, you smell sweetly of pine
warm and content we kiss as the birds
sing sweetly to us as we love without words.
the swirling of stars, the billowing nebulas
the gases and elements and all of their formulas
the suns and their lineups of planets and moons
through this the blue box spins, hurtles, zooms
in it a man as old as a comet,
with a trail behind him just as long and atomic
his life spread across the galaxies shining
his path a web that now is unwinding
as gold dust shimmers across his palms and his nose
his new life begins, where to— no one knows.
the mockingbird bride found a lace hairpiece drowning
on the edge of a lake by the old campground housing
she plucked it to safety in the clasp of her claws
and flew away swiftly over cabins and lawns
reaching her nest she set down the treasure
to make sure her mate would see it with pleasure
he came home that night, belly full of berries
and, seeing her gift, his heart flew with fairies.
as i sit at the end of the world, counting the pebbles, the waves, the buildings, my heartbeats, i feel nothing. i am silent and still as the empty earth is. as i drop the pebbles onto a pile, they don’t clatter as they roll down the sides. when i am at the beach, the waves do not crash. when the buildings fall, they kick up dust but i can’t hear a thing. when i listen to my heart, it’s screaming but it’s behind so much glass, so many scars, that it’s only a whisper. the only voice left in the wasteland. i choose to ignore it, and continue in silence. words would be too much. if i let myself hear, i would let myself feel, and at the end of the world what other feelings are left other than heartache and sadness and fear. i’ve felt those enough, why should i let them find me again.
i sit and add another pebble to my pile.
i count another wave.
i watch another fall.
i feel another crack.
everything falls apart. everything ends. everything dies. everything fades. nothing remains. i feel like im at the end of the world and all i have left are memories of when the earth was new. i sit amid the rubble, counting pebbles. i sit by the coast, counting down until the tsunamis. i sit on the hill and count how many buildings fall. i sit in my heart, counting how many more breaks it can take.
answer: not enough.
im alone and sad and tired and empty and im slipping quickly back into my old ruts my old ways my old days of not caring about anything but eating and sleeping and this time i may actually welcome it because at least in my pit i know what i’m doing, i know where i am. i know it is dark and lonely and sad and scary and no one comes in and no one comes out and not even the bats dare to roost above me. im so tired. im so damn tired. i need a break but life just keeps pushing on and i can either hide or continue to ruin everything i touch so this time i will jump into my cave gladly, knowing that while i may not be safe from the world, the world will be safe from me.
maybe i dont deserve to be happy? maybe i dont deserve luck? maybe i dont deserve love? maybe i have such an empty heart now that it’s just so deep and lonely and dark that no one wants to try and fill it? is that it? is everyone afraid of the dark? i’m afraid of it too. but all my candles are gone, all my fires are ashes, and my flashlight’s out of batteries. i could hang streamers, or maybe even put up a welcome sign. would that be inviting enough? no. probably not. it’s pretty lame. but i’m out of ideas and i’m out of energy and pretty soon that puddle on the very very bottom — see it down there? i know, it’s dark, but you really have to look, i promise it’s there — will dry up and i’ll be left with absolutely nothing. and for this long, all i’ve ever done is give. when i’m out of love to give, what will happen to me? what will i be? where will i be? what will i do? all my efforts to find a match to light up this darkness have failed. all the times i’ve thought i’ve found a new river, i realize its course doesn’t run through my cavernous heart. maybe i’m stranded. maybe i’m meant to be alone. maybe i’m just destined to sit alone, on the dry floor of my once flooded heart, and take in the cold darkness and discover something good about it. that doesn’t seem fun, and i don’t look forward to it, but it’s where i’m headed so i might as well make the most of it.
i need to learn
that all a heart ever does
i need to learn
that all a light ever does
i need to learn
that all i ever do
i need to learn
that all life ever is
i need to learn
that all i will ever do
i need to learn
that i will never survive
and existing is alright
except you’re not living.
i never, ever, ever learn.
happiness doesn’t last. happiness isn’t real. i’m better off staying depressed, and anxious, and at the bottom of my hole i’ve been digging for so long. any light i see, any light i let in, any light i make, they’re only sparks, not flames. they die as quickly as they were born.
in all my years, with all my loss, with all my heartache and heartbreak, i’ve never learned. i’ve never learned just to leave things be, not to touch, because all i ever do is break. i shatter, others fall, the entire thing is destruction. often it’s silent, but everyone feels the pain.
i need to learn to just stay where i’m at, not expect anything more, not try and get better, because it never does last. it never works. for all the good i try to do, for all the love i try to spread, most of it just disappears into the atmosphere, lost in space and never to be seen or felt again.
i’m a black hole—- don’t get too close, or i’ll mess everything up.
the trouble is, i’m at the center, and i’ve always been empty.
no light, no time, no space.
and i don’t like me. but i have to exist at the center of all this chaos and it takes its toll, and the few sparks of light i ever see come swirling close and then fall into my pit, and they are gone, off to another world, another life, another universe.
i think they all just end up in my mind, swirling for eternity, and as far gone as some of them are, they’ll never be closer to home. they don’t fall into just any black hole— they fall into my heart, and that’s much worse.
oh my god im in chemistry right now and the guys next to me have been talking the entire time i cant hear/concentrate on my prof’s lecture like i might as well just have skipped this class and stayed home to study bio…….
im in bio class now and i dont feel well, like i feel sort of dizzy and tired and sick idk why but im sorta nervous about it i dont like not knowing why i feel a certain way
also im super hungry so i dont have much energy…..blah someone help me
feelings are tough man
esp when theyre the sort of feelings where u cant talk to anyone about them and the only ppl you’d feel comfortable talking about them with are like…. who those feelings concern…… idk im dumb dont even look at me
today i wanted to go to the african drumming and belly dancing show in the union but it interferes with my class times and i need to go to class today bc i have exams for those classes this week s IGH
also tomorrow is a poetry slam which i NEED to go to i was thinking about signing up and reading my ‘chasing caribou’ poem but u know…. anxiety says hell nope…….
blah i have lots to do although i actually got a lot done in the last few days despite my procrastination? and it’s a rly sunny day out so i’ll take a walk later, maybe i’ll walk around reading my chem notes or something.
i feel like i always have 5 billion things to say and then when i open up a new post here im like….hhhhA wh at d o i say ? ?? b log??? what is bLOg?? im so DUMB
there’s a hole in my lucky moose socks im SO SAD I LOVE THESE SOCKS maybe i can find them online
why am i still typing it’s nonsense ok goodbye
yesterday i took a long walk through my neighborhood and stopped for a bit at the tree by which my gerbil cinder and my fish quincy are buried. it’s along a deer path and in a little corner of the wood. this is usually the spot in my walk when i turn around, as i run out of energy and i cant be bothered to keep on going.
but this time i stopped, walked through the snow and over the branches, and stood silently by the tree marking the final resting place of my two friends. cinder’s body long since claimed by the earth, and quincy’s just beginning to be kissed by the soil. i tentatively reached out my hand and placed it on the tree. i felt life, i felt a bit of warmth, i felt a strange peace. i would have stayed there much longer if it wasn’t so cold, or if i wasn’t so afraid of someone walking by and seeing me holding the tree.
it was the first time in a long time that i really stopped and felt a tree— felt its age, its life. this was a living thing standing tall, guarding the graves of my friends. how could i not spare it a few moments of kind touch?
the peaceful energy i got from the tree was healing. as i stepped away, i did not turn back for home like i normally would. instead, i pressed on. i thought no longer of how far i had to go to get home, but how many more things i could find if i just kept going.
that feeling didnt last, but at least it was there for a little while. that’s longer than it has visited in months..
i dont care about things as much as i should. im so selfish and sad all the time and i hate how i interact with people. i perpetuate my pain and i dont let others help. i am lazy and i have no motivation to change that. i really am not sure what i want anymore, what i am anymore, what i should do anymore. i really dont know. i prevent myself from succeeding, and i never work hard enough when i do let myself try. i don’t feel like a waste, i feel like a missed opportunity and that’s a hell of a lot worse than being trash. it’s being trash when you were once gold. it’s knowing that you still have a nugget of shining, splendid worth in you but it’s buried too deep and you can’t be bothered to venture down and bring it out.
i just sit every day waiting it out, waiting until it’s night again, and then i go to sleep. and i wake up and i hate myself all over again for another 24 hours until the cycle repeats. i screw every single thing i ever do or say up and i cant stop punishing myself for my faults but because my faults are greater than my achievements i am constantly beating myself to an ugly, sad pulp and it tires me out. i’m broken and bruised and it’s all my fault.
and the sorry thing is, i know it’s my fault and i admit it’s my fault but i’m not doing a single goddamned thing to change it. i keep saying i should, but i never, ever do. i never do anything to help myself and i take the easy route. i say i love the depression and i do, i sincerely do, but not because i enjoy the pain— but because i enjoy the ease of just giving in. and i’ve realized that it’s not even just giving in anymore, it’s giving UP.
i am a goddamn mess, but as many times as i say that to myself it never even sparks any motivation to fix myself. i’m a goddamn mess, i’m a goddamn mess, i’m a goddamn disgusting messy wreck of a life, i tell myself. and i know it’s true i know it’s true i KNOW IT’S TRUE AND YET I NEVER. DO. ANYTHING. ABOUT IT.
the moon’s dark side never sees the sun,
much like i never see myself— other than in darkness.
sure i’ve got a light side, a shining side,
the side that always faces the world’s problems with ease.
but i’m trapped on the dark side of the moon,
and most days, not even a zipping electron charged with
the slightest bit of star-hearted energy lights my way.
my head may be turned away,
i may not see the sun,
but boy do i know it’s there.
i may not see its rays, but i sure can feel its heat.
it’s just a matter of letting it in,
letting it warm my hardened heart,
letting it thaw the trails my stone caribou trot nightly.
you see, i count caribou, not sheep.
i count these proud warriors, these silent steppers,
these mass movers, these antlered gods.
they pound across my heartstrings like salmon on the run.
like stars draining beautifully into a black hole.
like all my happy feelings, washing down, down, down into the void.
the sea of despair— the ocean with no floor.
they are stone, they are statues, they are moving only when i am not looking. their magnificence shows only when i cannot see.
and you see, the problem is, my eyes are always wide open.
i can always see everything, feel everything, hate everything.
even though i am always sleeping, even though the darkness envelops,
my eyelids remain transparent, and the expanse of space stretches out in front of me, and it hurts— i can never look away.
i am never free, i am never warm, i am never happy—
and so in my despair i make them feel it too.
trapped in their frozen migration, my herd stands still,
on the move through time, not space.
the clock ticks—second by second, day by day, my life is running away.
i pay for my silence, my sadness, with the atoms that are glued to my soul.
it’s craft glue, not superglue,
and so they can be plucked off the macaroni art of my heart
and fly off into space where they were born,
giving life to someone else but not me.
i don’t need them anyways, i tell myself. i’ve got her— i’ve got my friend, my dearest lover, my angry but beautiful twin.
she’s my pillow that i rest my head on so often as i sleep.
she is the first thing i think of when i wake up, and only one i want when i am awake.
she is abusive, she hits me, she punches me straight in the goddamn mouth, but i love her like hell.
it’ll work out eventually, i tell myself. everyone tells me to leave, to get out of this abusive relationship, but i shut them out like i shut everything else out. i hate her but my love for her weighs more than my malice and so every night she climbs into bed and we sleep. throughout the nights and the coming days she goes by many names, and i name a star after every one of her faces. others call her ‘depression’ but i just call her ‘me’.
she sits with me as i count the caribou,
my stationary army,
soldiers that will never fight,
stuck like i am on the dark side of the moon.
they can feel the sun but cannot see its beauty and so like me they stand rigid in their despair over their eternal loss of this most simple of pleasures.
the expanse of space billows out in front of us, never ending, and always there, no matter how many times we try to look away. we send our fears, our worries, our sadness, out into the void and watch it as it slowly flies away. there are rings around the moon, and we feed them with our sorrows.
the trouble is, we will never see what beauty our pain creates.
activism is all i have left. it’s what keeps the fires burning in my heart. if it is broken, i am broken. if it fails, i fail myself. activism, advocacy; it is my lifeblood. i live and breathe for the billions of nonhumans so callously forgotten by most of us. i wake up each morning because i still hold out small hopes for a better tomorrow. i can’t quit fighting because to cease shouting would be to take away my life support. i would be absolutely nothing without my veganism. i pour everything i am, everything i have left after depression and anxiety have tortured my fragile soul, into trying to make this world a more peaceful place to be a nonhuman being. i have only so much to give, as i’ve been through so much already. i’m not completely dried out yet, not completely empty, but i am dangerously close. i just want to try and make a difference before i reach that point, but it seems that i won’t be able to.