.:because the world today:.we no longer lay on our roofs to watch the sky,nor do we smile and fingerpaint [but we cry];we don't tear up at moviesnor run, fearing scraped knees.we don't awake to watch meteor showersor catch hummbingbirds drinking from flowers.we no longer "compare thee to a summers' day,"instead we say, no, text, "i <3 u!" [so cliche!]we are no longer aware of who walks the streets today - foe or friend;we have crawled into ourselves, waiting for the world to end,but never have we stopped to think, to wonder, to imagine:what could we be if we could again begin?
InsomniaInsomnia or Thoughts In The Late-Night-Early-MorningI lay still awakeLate night early morning thoughtsRunning through my headWhat happens in the late night early morning dark is this. One stupid song lets out one stupid memory which lets out one whole year of grief which refuses to go back into the little box in the back of my head that I forced it into last year. In one fell swoop it all comes back and then the tears won't stop. My mind grabs at anything in its attempt to put all the tears back in the box in the back of my head where they belong. As it does, my hand reaches for the worn old bear who sits in the corner of the bed, waiting there for just such an occasion. And with the bear clutched to my chest, my mind fights for control of my emotions. It grabs the pen and pad from the floor, the mobile phone for light and sets to work. The light is poor, the eyes are tired, but the tears have stopped.And the pen is running out.01:46am 6/3/10
I Want To BreatheWhen he came home that night, tittering about exaggeration with a partial stutter in his voice, I knew he wouldn't make it past six months. What I didn't know is how he'd prove me wrong and live two more years. Hope left mile-long stories on his face, and every time he got a new test result back he made me wish for one more day.It was three-forty eight when I watched them roll his half full-of-life body into the ambulance, the wheels groaning with each shift in the concrete terrain. I botched my small steps and ended up tripping over every word he mumbled. Even with heavy anesthesia from earlier that morning, he still managed bisected jokes that made me smile.I tried not to picture the ambulance racing down overcast streets or hear the fake it's going to be okay voices from the EMTs. He squeezed my arm and I remembered the first hospital run, the first of countless trips."You can't die on me."I wanted to press my hands into him and carve out the disease as if he was on an
Insanity, out of mindGive it back. I mean it, give it back now. You've had it long enough and I'm starting to feel a bit lost without it. Please? Yes, I know you like it. I know you like the colours and the music. But can I please have it back? Only, I can't really function with my imagination.You can give that one back too, while you're at it. Yes, that one there that weird little lumpy one. Stop poking it! Yes, I know it's squishy and not quite like everyone else's, but I'd prefer if I got it back in one piece. I mean, broken sanity, that's essentially just insanity, right?
UnstartedAnd as the last snow begins to fallI want you to knowThere's always next year