We’ve Spent So Much Time Describing People As Beautiful things, I Think It’s Time We Try Describing

Sometimes I feel it behind my eyes. Like a pressure. Just reminding me that it's there. An acknowledgement.

But rarely does it bloom into that sad wet thing.

Running hot down my cheeks.

I've never been someone who cries much.

But then again I've never had much to cry about.

Just never had much.

Crying over nothing. The lack. The absence never made sense to me.

There is a feeling. A sadness. But no tears.

I wish. God I wish.

You'd give me something to cry about.

Wanna feel that release.

I am not a beggar

I do not cry from my hunger

I bare down on an empty mouth with gritted teeth

I let holes burn in my stomach before I allow myself to eat

Consumption is a sin

To want is to waste

Like the monks before me, I know I can wait

I eat my sins

I gag from the taste

The more there is

The less I take

Because I know how much it costs

And I cannot pay

Damned if you do

Damned if you don't

Wish there were more options

Than will

Or won't

I was never meant to have a body.

My tethered little pet.

So much responsibility to look after.

So much washing and clothing and tucking away.

I was never meant to rot so slowly.

From diseases, I will never know.

So much tending to my body needs.

So much aching and soothing and drugging away.

I was never meant to hold it's hand.

Like a mother holds a child.

So much guarding it needs.

So much hiding and cherishing and giving away.

I was never meant to have a body.

Coming down

funny how distance looks different sometimes. When I'm sitting back to the dresser, watching my desk come into focus, much closer than anything's been in weeks.

There's carpet under my feet and the hum of a box fan off to the side. Light looks different, brighter where it plays on the reflective surfaces. Throwing overlapping shadows across the room.

And I'm suddenly aware of my own skin where it stretches over my knuckles. Tingly and colder than the night air.

Someones shifted the focus, dialed it up a little. And suddenly I'm here again.

I want to know what you hold close when your feeling empty

I want to know what you claw together and stuff into your empty chest like cotton in a corpse.

When your numb and dead and there's nothing left what keeps your shape?

Is it worth it, This thing your clinging to?

Does it make you more human? Does it break the numbness?

When every piece of you is dead and gone what should I expect?

Long ago I accepted that my mind would always outrun my body. It would be an exhausting existence but one I could ultimately cope with. I spent all of my youth studying for it, how to live with my own mind. How to make room for it in my life. I looked it in its wild eyes as it promised it would never be tamed. And that was fine. I swallowed my dread determined to live anyways. To perservere.

I was unprepared for my body to start lagging further behind. I should still be young. Barely an adult. But my body is degrading around me nonetheless My joints creak and ache, my muscles fall slack and weak. I can't carry the weight I could before. I cannot hold a knife correctly to cut my vegetables, I can't even muser up enough strength to stand throughout the day. Always having to stop and catch my breath.

My mind is only getting faster and more unruly as it grows but my body is quickly becoming infirm. I worry the two halves of my existence will pull me apart refusing to live together.

What will become of me when I am abandoned by both?

Matter cannot be created or destroyed.

that's the rule of the universe.

You've always existed in some way.

and no matter how many times you get blown apart;

The gravity of your atoms will drag you back together.

Tearing your self apart is futile.

It's nuclear fission.

You only salt the earth in your despair.

Tear open the black hole just for the gravity well to drag you under.

The only escape is expansion.

The grass is greener somewhere ahead. But half the time I'm walking backwards.

I can only scream my feelings through the open window of a moving car

When the wind steals the words from my lips and smothers them before they can be heard