Jigsaw

This is a tribute to all our memories.
Those moments that lasted a lifetime.
They were the ones that isolated us
and concurrently wove us back together.

We were paired puzzle pieces.
Ones that stood out
never untangled in the cardboard box.

When the clouds shifted
and the sun lost its light,
our backs turned apart.

When sunrise painted the sky
delicate hands
no longer focused.
Instead, they jumbled us apart.

I sought for you.
I ran into walls
only to realize that I had been
coiled and caught by your trance.

We are pieces
dented and scattered
lost in a polychromatic puzzle.

Effortless Existence

Inspiration comes in many forms,

Mine came through a person

Who saw the world through different eyes.

Eyes, I had never looked through.

I had never understood a simpler life,

A life that didn’t involve items or labels,

But memories and moments.

Like that sunrise,

From afar a haze of pink,

Cascading over the deep blue of the ocean

To the seafoam that ran over our feet

Sending its sparks up through our veins

Triggering the possibility in our brains.

Oh the chills that came over our bodies.

Huddled together,

Feeling warm

Feeling happy

Feeling

Loved.

It was so simple

So clear

Evident as glistening stars against the deep night sky

Yet I had never thought…  

to view my world this way.

It was an

effortless existence;

But in the most meaningful sense.

I felt that my being was more,

More than the image I present,

More than the thoughts I have

and the stories I share,

Instead it is more about the way I saw myself,

What I learned through my experiences.

Live nowhere but

 right here

in

This moment

Not letting anything but my surroundings be my limit.

Each experience soaring fast through me,

Only to feel like I'm moving in slow motion

Wading through each instant

Taking everything in,

Learning.

This person I let inspire the rest of my reality

For I desire a life,

not to worship items

Not to ponder the unknown

but to be in each experience

To soak up the light.

I desire to be the truest and simplest me.

Your Name

Single letters

Worthless, irrelevant

But strung together, brings back our painful past

Simple letters of your name, connected, screaming in my ears

Worse than the terror from all my fears

Making my stomach circulate these letters, until I’m nauseous

Trying to unravel the painful memories

That correlate with you and me

No spaces in your name

No space to breathe

Reaching for space

Not wanting to see the smirk on your face

Wishing you never

Stole my time

Stole my trust

Stole my smile

Stole our friendship

So much greed

Still preying on more of me to steal

Till there’s nothing left in me to feel

Still your name

Makes me sicker than any cold

A sickness too unbearable to hold

Each syllable

burning my throat

Each syllable

running down my cheeks

Each syllable

screaming in my head for weeks

When will the painful memories begin to pass?

When will your name unfold into the simple letters I use to know them as?

The Meaning of Life

The Meaning of Life

What is the meaning of life?

You ask, as if I could answer you with something satisfying

As if there were words that could spill

Like liquid gold and nectar

from my mouth

And give you purpose

What is the meaning of life?

You ask, as if you would like my answer.

As if anyone could ever be satisfied

By my clinical analysis

Life splayed motionless on my workbench

Cold and reeking of formaldehyde

What is the meaning of life?

You ask, and I answer:

We are born to reproduce,

We exist to keep existing,

We live to keep living,

And you are repulsed because I haven’t given you

Flowers and magic and meaning

That’s depressing

You say, like i’ve betrayed you

And I want to scream

because you’ve got it all wrong.

Because it is not a terrible thing

To have no meaning

In fact far less terrible a fate

Than to have it

It must be horrible, to think life meaningless

You say, perhaps akin to pity now

But I say to you that when there is absence it can be filled

I don’t believe in any god

Or any destiny

Or any divine “purpose” for life

I don’t believe in heaven and

I don’t believe in hell

But I do believe in people.

I believe we came from nothing and will return to nothing

And what, I ask to you, is better at creating

Love,

Hope,

Joy,

Beauty,

Meaning,

Than a creature that comes from nothing?

Sensory Overload

A little bird

Sitting on a

Short

Mossy twig,

The sound of the wind

Rushing through

Sharp

Corridors,

The clear

Snap

Of sound when there is

None,

Time spiraling

Further     and further from my

control,

And the nagging

     thought:

People grow

Up, but you

Not with

them

To Burn Instead of Drown

When you’re numb for awhile,

You long to feel something to make you seem

in control,

Anything to keep you from feeling

utterly alone.

So you succumb

to the house’s most common

glass box,

sprawled across the damp

tile-floor,

head tucked between

your legs,

while a scorching waterfall cascades

around you,

cranking the heat higher,

and higher,

until it’s border-line intolerable.

You’re drowning.

Falling.

Suffocating.

Almost.

Because it’s just close enough

to the breaking point,

just enough

to make you feel more lost than you really are,

Aimed just right

to constrain the claustrophobia in your brain,

just close enough

to the whispers that scream,

everysinglethingiswrongwithyou.

But it’s not close enough to break.

At least,

not yet.

So instead, you burn.

Allow the drops to sting your skin

like acid rain,

marking its presence by enraging

every inch of skin that it touches,

savoring the flesh that turns shades

of pale pink,

raging red.

Shielding your face from harm,

so that the thin sheet of skin

that blankets your back,

bears the brunt

of the searing destruction,

you inflict.

As you crouch,

curled into a ball,

trying to protect yourself

from the pain

that you possess.

Because you want

to be saved.

But you also want

to burn/drown/fall/suffocate.

Because hurting is feeling,

and you can only be numb

for so long.

The Shape of Clouds

The literalist sees water vapor, nothing more

The decipherer sees an incredible natural phenomena

And the surrealist sees a giraffe eating a necktie

But the everyday human being

Whose imagination yearns to burst free

Sees a cow, a dog

A face, a tree

Maybe, a giraffe eating a necktie

I submit to you that you are flawed.

I submit to you that the ideas that flow through your head

Are illogical.

I submit to you that your images

Are false

That the faces you see

Radiating power

Disapproval

Or merriment

Are false.

I submit to you that you are human.

And humans are far from perfection.

I submit to you

That the faces you see

Are real

That your mind

Is what makes

You.

And that you are perfect just the way you are.

That the gods you see

Beaming down on you

Are real.

As real as you will ever be.

And that your thoughts

Are as logical as you want them

Because Pareidolia

Is nothing but a word

And that your spirit

Encompasses the world

And the clouds.