Meat Atoms. Lumps of blood and flesh with indecipherable chemical impulses, derived from measurable stimuli. We grow from one cell to being Beings, with destinies and dreams and back to organic matter, crumbling under the soil. We are the molecules of the universe. We matter.
I. Am. Not.
With those words, could I cease to be?
Would that taut thread we walk, between today and tomorrow
Tatter into nonentity?
Do the separate organs of body too rebel?
Do my muscles know when I tell
Stories, or do they just guide the words, unconcerned
Have I inked only paper? Or has my flesh
My tendons, my cartilage also
My stories learnt
Are my nuclei content to divide and multiply
While I lay here, staring at the ceiling in the dark
Do the cells in me that are reborn know what it is to die
Half new, half hastily repaired parts
My arm twitches, lying across my forehead
My chest heaves with unspeakable things
Can my alveoli taste the sour tang of fear too?
Or oblivious, they function imperturbably
They do not choke on inspiration, as I am wont to do
I. Am. Not.
Not after tonight
Oh, my body will still exist
My skin will wrinkle, my joints will creak
But this hollow left inside, I’d gambled for this
And I lost
My axons will revel
In their tallying synapses
What never has been can leave
But I’ll always know how much
Why did He make me from clay?
What did He do to me?
What sort of vessel am I shaped into
To contain these fallacies?
Blinded, blinded, I don’t know my face
The mirror shows me a stranger
But ask me yours, where your smile lies and
I will know all the answers
Who are you, who gave you this
Power, over me, over my sense
Of reality, how did you change
My touch to thought, to impermanence
The sky is raw and the earth bleeding
How did you construct this bent
world, did God destroy me, or did you
-Did you both?
And what was my offence?
I loved you too much by any measure
I knew there was a gaping void
I promised myself, I’d fill the indifference
I’d push hard enough from my side-
and I did, see-
I’m already crazy
A drunk girl laughing at the edge of a cliff
Inching closer to the precipice, and
The howling promises of the wind- If
Only, if only, I could step away
If I could tell myself I mattered, you’ll miss
The scattered moments in your life
where I appear, where I exist
Inside my head, it’s a nice illusion
A sweet lie to say, if only
If only I could step away
Oh, that fall beckons too much, today
Some days, nothing makes sense. Nothing you do makes sense. The rain stops your sky and the walls won’t let you breathe and you want, you want someone to love, someone who will sit with you when you’re trying to make sense of what’s even fucking happening. In a corner of your mind you know you’re raving, but the other corners drown that tiny one out, and the day passes in a bewildered blur.
Maybe you want more. Maybe you want one sign, one small fucking sign that this altar you sit by isn’t where you’re going to starve and die, but grow, bloom, flourish. Maybe you resent everything in the world today because none of it is fucking yours and you have no one to call your own except you- and you don’t love yourself anyway, so fat lot of help that is. And the self pity and bitterness steadily simmers and gains momentum, and you find yourself staring off the side of the building, wondering if today’s the day.
But today is horrible. Today was horrible, which means it can’t be the day. Life cannot fall like this. Today can’t be the day, so let’s sit at the edge and breathe.
Let’s wait for tomorrow.
Those who have known imprisonment, know
Freedom can be found even in a flower
And you wonder why I love rain
We were not reared in shade, in gardens
This desert has bred
I walk in dreams, where no one sees
Be still; I know where you lie
But you do not know
They trapped her soul in the
Heart of a diamond
She sparkled like a star, and yet
They found flaws in her
This night sky stretches on like a lost ocean
It seems to me that
I am doomed to drown tonight
Five Parts of Her’
Do you want to know what I did today?
I came back home and I cleaned my room. Twice. Because I wanted to cry, and big girls don’t cry. So I cleaned my room.
I removed the mountain of washed clothes that had accumulated in the corner. All the dresses I’d bought in recent times, to wear for you. The stockings and leggings to go with them. The light jackets I’d been wearing on our outdoors dates because I knew you didn’t give two shits about my scars, but I still didn’t want people staring at us in public. It took a while, folding and putting everything away, memories and funny incidents still strung on to each and every of those dresses. But I’m not going to be wearing any of those for any of the reasons I wore them for… best to put them away now.
It felt like a funeral, like a burial of every happy color in my life. And I was tempted to cry, but I didn’t. Not even when I packed away my lingerie drawer, full of absurd scraps of lace that I’d only bought at all because you’d mentioned offhandly that you ‘like that shit’. And I knew exactly how much you liked each and every surprise from that drawer. But there’s no need for intimates where intimacy doesn’t exist. So I packed them up and put them away. It’s almost funny how many days we spent wrapped around those bits of cloth. Then again, when the fabric of reality itself changes, what possible strength can silk or satin have?
So I put them away, too.
And then I packed it all up, twice. Because you’re not gone yet, but you’re going to go very soon. And I have no use for these trappings of fantasies that are already evaporating. There’s so many things that are going to cease to be real for me, and it hurts, it really fucking hurts. Moving my bed to a different corner isn’t going to erase the love and the pain I’ve painted these walls with, and when it’s night and there’s nothing but darkness, those colors will show and I’m going to cry. I’m going to be crying for many, many nights. But I’m still going to have to get up and face a hundred people every day, smiling and laughing and doing whatever normal people do.
Because you and I were sitting at a bar today, drinking beer and listening to random music blaring- nothing we haven’t done a thousand times before, but something we probably won’t be doing again. And we were holding hands and Fergie was singing that it’s time to be a big girl now.
And big girls don’t cry.
Being up before dawn is quite something.