i wait for solitude
to complete my tasks
unburdened by observation
or interruption,
but when i’m finally alone,
the grief takes hold.
it roots me
to the spot,
aware
but unable to act –
trapped in the cage
i built for my feelings,
overrun with emotions
i never have time to understand.
i mourn the loss of solitude
far ahead of its arrival;
i mourn the loneliness
that takes its place.
i mourn the choices i’ve made
and the ones i never will,
but especially those still before me.
so when i’m alone,
the grief won’t let me choose at all,
because it knows the time is brief
until i leave the cage to perform again.
-
the mask
-
nothing works
everything hurts
in this cage i built for myself.
i beg for a hand (to dismantle it),
and everyone claps.
i can’t handle it.
the cage is too strong; too weak is my grasp.
i’m clawing at bars with helpless hands,
struggling unseen, unheard, unknown.
unloved? no. (maybe, though.)
everyone keeps getting
everything wrong,
and they’d never notice on their own
however long i let it go on —
i need a hand to ease the suffering,
not applause for enduring it alone. -
divine (feminine)
bring me obsession
for existing authentically,
willingly, purposefully —
unobserved and unburdened
by expectation
or miscommunication —
and i’ll offer connection,
curiosity, intentionality,
and all my adoration. -
connection ii
when all that remains is
open to interpretation,
that explains it —
the suffocation
is loneliness personified,
transmogrified into the anvil on my chest,
the last of my breath expressed
by the weight of everything i didn’t mention
when i might have had the chance.
because when all is forgotten,
what’s left of me?
bits and pieces collected by strangers
in the moments we connected,
folded into eternity
to be repurposed but never reassembled. -
connection
so here we are…
in search of a truth that doesn’t want to be found
except by accident.
i guess that means we’re stuck here,
until one of us stumbles onto it.
maybe you can help me
distinguish truth from reality,
and then we’ll see where dreams fit —
because why shouldn’t i cherish
the dream i created?
it’s real enough to me, isn’t it?
but it’s not *true*
and that matters to me,
since we can’t be us without you. -
paths
the air is different,
and i remember it fondly.
it once carried the promise
of infinite possibility —
but you can’t get that anymore,
you know.
now it carries
the scent of that promise
with subtle hints
of bitter sweetness
that (are sometimes
not so subtle
and) always leave me aching
for the paths i didn’t take.
maybe some are lost,
but i can feel in the air
that some remain,
buried there beneath
the words i couldn’t
still can’t
want to
might not ever get to say. -
pen+watercolor
a few pieces i’ve been sitting on that i’ll be gifting next week, and i finally got the bright idea to scan them for posterity. i quite like these ones!
-
121325
i’m surprised when you listen —
when threads of our conversation
weave into the fabric of our day
and
i’m surprised
when your cleverness means
my own won’t go unnoticed
or argued away
and
there’s a calmness
in being understood
implicitly,
a gentle comfort
in never spending energy
defending myself
against the devil’s advocacy
of every single thing
contradictory to me —
and i wonder if you can hear it
when i whisper. -
crushed
the weight of forever,
knowing it’s more of this,
has pressed harder still
until
i lay unmoving in the earth
and wait to melt away.
and then
you’re there, and you see me.
you offer me some tea
and the bits of me
i thought i’d never see again
start coming back
and then
you’re there. can you help me?
i’m rebuilding myself
in my own image,
but i’m not sure how
to fit all the pieces.
so if that’s where you are now,
maybe we could walk together
and watch the birds
until we figure out how
sisters are supposed to be.
