year-round, it's always here
doing what humans can't,
the unthinkable.
it strikes fear
of the unknown,
gives peace
of more to discover,
anger that the unknown
is not just a saying.
you never know its (or our) next move
besides the fact that
we want to be ready for it all,
soldiers clad in armor for battle.
but even they aren’t ready,
our battle plans made one-night stands.
the dew rustling, beautiful, simplistic
an overload?
no.
that's not what we wanted.
the breeze, soothing to the skin
an overload?
now, we’re as light as paper.
we dance and stomp to the beat on the ground
an overload?
the screams consume ears,
children’s tears like a flooding river,
and this time we can’t dry them,
so we hold out hope.
we join hands,
pray for comfort and safety.
then it ends.
it’s all over.
what was an instant, an hour,
an hour, a day.
black clouds unfurl into
a barren gray sky,
a sliver of rainbow curling at the horizon.
no one likes uncertainty like this
but we can’t live without it.
i. precipitate
you are the sort of girl that hurricanes are named after.
i should have known you would rip me limb for limb,
hand my pieces off to the north wind.
i longed for the storm eye’s clarity
yet savored the calamity of it all,
relishing your cold drumming against my body,
your winds that tear me apart.
now i remember you only in the subconscious,
curves hidden somewhere subtle-
the place that harbors the first autumn breeze.
it comes back in little flashes,
always a surprise when you cross my lips
and tumble out of my mouth.
ii. condensate
she rises with the sun,
slipping just out of reach
and you are left to grasp at smoke and straws.
and in her absence, greedy girl,
you will gobble up the sun,
because you will still be hungry,
copper and blood dribbling out of your
slack-jawed mouth.
come moonrise,
she slips beneath the cracks under doors
and back in between cold sheets.
you always let her in,
won’t stuff your towel under the door—
tomorrow, you’ll tell yourself as you hang it back up.
you will hold her, worship her while you can.
wrap your arm over her stomach,
hope it will keep her there when the sun rises.
iii. evaporate
her pupils are saucer-wide, squinting into the mirror.
summers are always hard, coaxing the geyser out of her.
she’d like to think the heat would dry her out, but it’s humid here.
one foot out the door and she can’t escape the sweat.
she’s becoming soggy, she thinks,
a little too soft around the edges to be this young.
every eruption pulls silt and sand with it, the geyser only gaping further.
her eyes melt, face swimming in the mirror
and she can tell another eruption is coming,
that hollow feeling filling her up again,
creeping into her mouth and holding down her tongue.
she turns from her water-bound reflection,
already so used to this wasted dilation.
There was a story I heard
A woman with stormy eyes
Who killed houses and livelihoods in this town.
I don’t remember much at five,
But I heard that she was horrible.
She tore up roofs
She destroyed homes
Filled streets, houses,
With her bleeding flood.
I heard there was a neighborhood
That’s still affected to this day
Marred by ruination,
Battle scars imprinted in the flesh.
I read how people talk about her
How she ruined so many lives
Extinguished the little flames of livelihoods
With her pounding force.
I read how many people she killed,
How many she injured.
I read how people survived,
How they refused to die.
I saw how people left their homes
And saw how some didn’t return
To their lives here
Because they were afraid
That something like her would come back
And rip everything from them
Rip away everything they built
Rip away their homes.
I heard how people thought she wasn’t a threat
How people thought she would pass over
Harmless.
They underestimated her.
They underestimated her to the point
That she had to prove herself to them.
And people said to leave
Leave the city
It’s not safe here
But they didn’t listen.
I heard how cruel she was
How ruthlessly her winds battered
Because they underestimated her
And she had to prove herself
By filling streets,
Houses,
At an unrelenting pace,
Devastating an entire city.
The wounds she left are still fresh
Still unhealed
Vivid in memory.
I heard she was deadly.
Every storm has its warning signs
Black clouds clotting in their wisps
Flocks of blackbirds flitting above in their frantic pace
The bandaids tacked on the thin wrist
The gradual change of attitude
The blank distant stare as the rest of the world blurs in movement
The moment someone goes through with taking their life,
It shouldn’t be a surprise
But no one notices
Because everyone has their own life
Own problems
Their own storms drumming down on the roofs
What makes my problem bigger
Worth saving
Worth keeping
Just to be alone again,
Standing in the midst of the crackle of thunder
The lightning splitting me in two
Every storm has its warning signs
Not unexpected
You could’ve seen them
You just didn’t want to
Didn’t want to listen to the forecast
On your TV
Didn’t care enough to pack our belongings
And help me run
I can't blame you
You had your own storm
Gusts of wind battering your tiny house
But if only you had leaned in and turned the little knob,
You would have heard my sobs howling with the wind
You could have been my sanctuary
Dear Mum,
you never listened, and that was okay. i listened to myself though.
would this be me listening to myself or am i just doing it to relieve
the pain that i always felt? and you never bothered to notice
I’m tempted to do bad things when burdened. Wouldn't it be best to
eliminate a bad thing, to crush a pest as soon as your eye falls upon it?
It’s tough to be a bug, so tough that I want to bring sweet annihilation
to myself by myself.
would it really be a bad thing to walk down a checkered hallway
into a checkered bathroom and open a glass medicine cabinet…
consistency is natural, right?
bargain my soul with satan's nymphs- you'd enjoy that.
to indulge in someone else's pain.
he doesn't do shit for you, mom. then again, i won't be able to either
because i won’t be here just like you weren't. it was never bad to kill off a bad thing
forever but never always,
your little angel
“you’re not okay.”
You should get some help.
I never meant to get this far with my feelings.
Feelings - disorienting & confusing. To trust
him was not my best.
I think it's safe to say, "I'm not okay."
How could I be so...
foolish;
so foolish, that not even my own
gut was smart enough to see past his
nonchalance. Ruth, you're
far from okay.
You're far from...
sovereignty. To do so would be tyranny, right?
Acquisitively controlling.
"it would be wise."
It would be smart. I don't think there's a major for personal circumstances.
You're a problem.
I'm not crying, though. It wouldn't be smart to waste
good water on someone that already dries you up
"not a single text."
You can do better.
Candles are sturdy things. And as sturdy as they are, they never cease to melt.
To stay solid, sturdy, and solidified.
to live
when everything seemed simpler
before we broke the earth
before the world turned too fast
to be sleeping in a quilted bed
with a black cat purring at its foot
and the embers of a fire sitting in a fireplace
keeping the cold of snowflakes out
to be woken early by the clinking of glass bottles
and a shadow passing through a curtain
with the clatter of a milk container
resounding before quieting on the doorstep
and the sound of the milkman’s footsteps
is calming as it grows farther away
like any worries in that moment,
that moment of stillness and warmth
To bear a child, to a bear a soul, that is a gift. This tiny human coming into the world is now the sole purpose of your life. I used to find comfort in that thought, wrapping it around myself warm and snug like a blanket.
But, times are changing. The storms are getting stronger. The oceans are boiling with rage. Mother Nature cries for help and we turn the other cheek. Injustice reeks throughout the planet. Why would I want to bring another life into this mess we call life? It would be selfish, to send the light of my life into such cruel ruins.
Yet again, I catch myself fantasizing whether my child would have my nose. Would they have my laughter? Who knows. I would rather keep these sweet thoughts a mystery. Because even if they have my eyes or my smile, they will still experience the turmoil of life. And I can’t bear to be the one who invites them in.
Forever my children will live in my head. A cottage somewhere with blooming flowers sprouting from the ground is where they lay in the grass. They spend their days climbing the cherry tree and rolling down hills. Their happiness is infinite. I won’t take that away from them. Forever young; forever safe.
visiting the water, the waves, the current pulsating heartbeat
the rowboater was slouched in the captain's chair
proud and boisterous he paddled adrift
songs of the sea crashing against sand
a gentle breeze a tree framed
against the night skin the bridge
was in sight
the journey to the moon was a long one
the man curious of the stars desired the journey
for he wondered what was adrift in the night sky
"What If We Weren't Alone"
the man pondered
often staring at the Screen,
Blank
the day came
the sound he so desired
he peered at the screen
an unknown source
"Please Help Us”
i have come to love the smell of rain.
it means that everything has been washed away,
fresh and new, green and calm.
the rainfall means that i can start anew.
assume a new identity,
cast away my problems,
build myself a cabin in the woods.
i have come to yearn for the rumble of thunder.
it echoes the ache i feel in my chest ,
fills the emptiness with a warm, deep hum and
thaws my cold bones.
i can sit in a filled silence,
without the need to run,
to distract myself from the voices in my head.
i have come to appreciate the excitement of lightning,
a force of nature completely out of my control.
a spark in the air and
the feeling of electricity raising the hairs on the back of your neck.
when the light flashes,
illuminating up the sea of sky outside my window,
i relinquish all my worries
and bask in the realization that all i can do is watch.
i have come to anticipate the brooding clouds.
they envelope the sky and soften the blinding rays of the sun.
in the darkness secrets can stay hidden and
you don’t have to pretend to be happy under the scrutiny of the light.
when the sky grows dark it means that i can let myself go.
because for once, the sky reflects how i feel.
i have come to learn that i am more than i realize.
i am the ruthless rain,
pelting down on the sidewalk and flooding all the rivers.
i am the howling wind,
halting for nobody, carving my own path in the world.
i am the lively lightning,
brightening the sky with my brilliance.
i am the storm.
i am a force of nature.
and i have no reason to be afraid.