why is it that i hear screams in the night.
when i close my eyes, and it’s quiet.
flashbacks of you, having to be restrained.
you biting, biting. i’m bleeding.
memories of you strapped down, pumped full of ketamine.
close your eyes, close your eyes. i’m pleading.
One day when I was bathing in my usual sadness I noticed butterflies on a bush in my backyard. When I approached it I was surprised to find that they didn’t fly away but remained. These purple flowers growing, not flying, towards the sun. I marveled at their mimicry.
I wondered why life couldn’t be as simple as these charming buds. Why does this life have to be so tragic? And why would seeing a butterfly shaped flower bring me such joy? Why couldn’t I just ignore it. I wonder why I have to notice every exhausting detail.
I need some space—some breathing room. But how can I ignore your tears after you’ve seen an injured bunny? And how could I ignore your questions of, “Will I go to Heaven?”
You are a part of my world, but for you—I am your world. For you I will continue to reach, reach, and reach.
I like the way the water seems to go the right when the wind comes in from the east.
And when I look up and squint, I’m reminded subtlety of a winter’s tree.
Barren branches just at the top and a bird giving a low, lonely call.
Within a second I’m reminded of where I am.
A place where the screeches of mowers are never-ending and the sun always shines.
The longing always remains though— to have a break from the heat and for it to be so quiet that I can hear the falling snow.