there is a quiver, a voice, a scratch on the back of my throat at all times
that spins magical magnificent memories in the form of words i cannot live without.
i call these wonderfully wierd impulses as my poetry.
but be warned : we poets learn how to twist metaphors and pin imagery.
we make make diamond words out of coal memories.
we know how to bend and shake up words until they shiver and are nothing but dust.
we paint gods out of human palettes.
and i will probably make one out of you too.
halfway across this city is someone who thought about you this afternoon. somewhere across your state someone heard about you from an acquaintance and wondered about how you would be. someone right now is reading your words and falling in love with them unknowingly. halfway across this world is someone who sat next to you on a flight long ago and is going to be your friend two months later. we’re all connected.
isn’t that comforting?
we fell like glass heart timers. tick-tock. tick-tock. tick-tock.
vanishing every second in a fog of affection. a mirage of love, a sea of purity. we fell without learning to climb and maybe we felt it was enough.
and maybe it was.
we fell like paper cranes into rivers of desperation. drown me. drown me. drown me right this instant, i beg you.
but still still learnt to fly now, didn’t we? out, out and away on little fluttering heart wings.
this is us. the kids with the pixel hearts, the queens with the broken hearts. this is us, bleeding love and glory. we survived. this is us with the gazillion views on oppression and prognostications. this is us – the ones with the bruised knees and patched minds, building sandcastles with the muck you threw at us. this is us with the scraped knees – do you remember pushing us down?
this is us – grime filled nails and latte lips and rusty hair. this is us, and we made it this far. this is us. we wear headbands of wilted flowers and we scream with our face full of blood. we hope with bandaged skin and tousled hair. we sing with our mouths closed – do you remember taping our mouth?
so this is us – reincarnations of helen and cleopatra and venus. this is us with labels stuck to us with permanent glue. this is us – dying to please a generation you raised.
and i cannot just understand how i can possibly feel like an entire library and a blank page at the same time
but i kinda do, and i still don’t know how i feel about it.