you committed the time to rework every emotion i have
to spoon compassion into the dehydrated cracks of my linework
to shake the tunnel of your throat and produce sounds
that lower the ragged edges on my skin
and coax light into my eyes
to see the world like glass
reflecting every piece of matter
in a visceral showcase.
the breath of another living entity
soaks its energy into my hands
to tie strange shapes into vessels
that gives body to shapeless thought.
confirming you’re there
i release tension from every nerve in my hand
to rest onto your back
and glide over the dip that found its way closest to your spine
the parent to your fluid nerves
that taught you to stretch your body
as tall as skyscrapers
while acknowledging the fertile garden
your foundation is planted into.
i break my tension and fall into
the dip of your back
to reconfigure my foundation
the last thing she saw was a radiant light
it was beautiful and jarring
and it was met by a noise
that bellowed throughout every vein she had
she examined every stimuli
and balanced ash on her fingers
and thought of her mother’s smile
and tasted iron in the air.
her body did not feel the same
she did not feel small anymore
the outline of her frame shattered
all familiarity with her limbs spilled onto the ground.
her eyes lost color
she thought she was dreaming
and that snowflakes fell into her eyes
which was why she felt cold
she dreamed of clocks dropped into honey
she felt time was stuck
and that she was in control
and was bending her reality
she saw a tall and dark man
and she thought it was a god
who blessed her with these powers
and asked why
suddenly, she felt as if she were melting
and her eyes became singed
so she undressed herself from her skin and bones
and followed a radiant light in the sky
so she could see her mother’s smile.
"I wrote this as a response to the Gaza raids and the intolerable action of taking a child’s life for the purpose of some sort of religious war. I wanted to capture the innocence of every child lost and how these children cannot grasp the initiative and execution of this mindless slaughter. I keep the suffering families in my heart and wish to see the end to this dark time"
I want to describe it as a night of heavy drinking.
I hate the feeling of knowing that all the alcohol I drank over the night will be thrown up at some point. I am particularly describing the feeling of knowing IT WILL HAPPEN and there is no escaping.
I must cut short the conversation taking place with a person I just met, who is spewing something remotely relative to my interests and who I produce a temporary adoration towards, to sweep into the nearest bathroom where I spend the next hour waiting for my stomach to spill into the toilet. The cleansing is not as pure as the word sounds: it is messy, sweaty, and all at once.
And this is what it is like to write. To write how I write. I get hit with the sudden realization that I am full of something I need to yack out immediately. When it hits, I escape into my own confinement and sit for as long as I need to, until it all comes out and with one flush, it is out of my system and traveling through pipes where some other being will have to approach and deal with it.
Thanks for reading my writing, everyone. I regurgitate for my well-being and to expose myself with the wonderful expanse of the English language.
place me in an arrested state
unnatural light and man-made furniture
void of sunlight, unnourished hardwood objects
and i will feel as such
unnourished, man-made, arrested
void of plantlings that split their cells and pushed themselves out of a dirt utero
to bathe in sunlight.
give me that