Even though I won’t ever see them again, I still carry them.
Inside and outside
On the lining of my heart
And the edges of my brain
Beneath my fingernails
Or hanging from an eyelash.
They saturate my writing and my words
Sloping from an s, or cradled in a y.
Sometimes, they are even in a glass of whiskey glass of wine.
But this is about the body.
If you were to unwind me out across the earth,
Spread out this fleshboat of a body crack open the ribs and peer beneath the surface—
They would be there too.
Resting on an iliac
Sleeping in a clavicle
Wrapped around the vertebrae
They trickle through the veins.
A small room, and the feel of them inside of it
The light and how it pours in through the window
A book of poetry upon the nightstand A guitar sitting in the…
i kept your sins sheltered within
you felt no shame, no guilt
the harm you unleashed on me
new scars, freshly laid, bloody patterns
wounds unhealing inside me always raw
the pain withered me into submission
your burden to bear by chance
my penance for choice of heart
but rage will emerge, so beware
for every injury, insult, and humiliation
there will be justice inflicted severely
bloody eye for my bloodied eye
painful welts you’ll receive from strangers
lawless games played for your ways
brutality and cruelty like i received
i’ll see you caged just like me
empathy is like a curse hurting and loving
at the same time the sounds of cruelty
sing an ugly song the images scorch my eyes my strength within
subsides as my body succumbs to emotions pain is magnified as the suffering continues unkind people saying one thing doing another nothing but liars abuse of all forms
killing innocence harming possible futures the evil sleep well
recounting their deeds the sufferers of their wickedness do not grieving with the harmed wrap them in my being losing respect and hope for this world and aching for the vulnerable
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.*
Every damn day. This life, a daily grind of excruciation.
Always having to adjust mentally, physically and emotionally.
Moving through my day as cautiously as possible.
Pushing through the pain, feeling productive & proud.
I’m beyond the agony when I’m able.
But some days I have no spoons and I go
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave**
*Source: “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot **Source: “Dirge Without Music” by Edna St. Vincent Millay