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i’ll let you rip me into pieces. enough of them that, in your blinded rage, the bits of me will be so small that i will become a puzzle impossible to solve.

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layered memories

It’s been so long - I find it hard to remember what she was like. 

When I look at the artifacts she’s left for me, I begin to doubt if I ever knew her. 

My face contorts as I struggle to make up an image of her with these scattered pieces. 

I feel my heart fold atop itself. At some points, it ceases to beat.

I don’t know what to expect with all of this, what I may (re)learn about her. I don’t know if I am prepared to know.

There are pages and pages and piles and mountains - what stories she told herself to fall asleep, where she dreamed of being . 

She was smart to leave so much for me. She knew that I would end up like this.

She didn’t deserve to become someone so forgetful. 

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An October Day

The fall makes me think of you. 

Maybe, it’s because on even the warmest of days, your go-to color scheme stayed reminiscent of the light breeze and the cooling rain showers and the trickles of sunlight that shine through auburn leaves. 

Maybe it’s because your voice carries a crispness to it that only the autumn air seems to share. 

Or that your presence provides a warmth akin to standing in the sun on an October day.

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when it gets to be too much

sometimes i feel like a child with so much emotion pent up in the oddest of places, and no clue of what to do with it,  or how to get rid of it.

i feel it accumulate in my knees as i find them aching while i lay, i feel it in my hands as they shake vigorously, i feel it build up in my scalp pushing my hairs out one by one.

i wonder if shouting will help, or letting myself sob and sob and sob. these things do not help. 

in the midst of my self destruction planning session, i hear my stomach eat itself from the inside - this overwhelming feeling has built me an appetite my mind has no intention of satiating.

i am now stuck: this feeling and this body have incapacitated me. i can do nothing but be still and endure. so i lay back down, and pray that i can find solace in the void where none of this can follow me. not the aches as i lay, not the tremors and remnants of hair that remain on my head. and especially not this feeling. being in this emptiness is perfect for a child.

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when i’m rescued

i don’t remember things anymore. faces, voices, sights and scenes, they hide behind a thick cloud of smoke and fog that i can’t seem to push away. if i do reach them, they’re trapped underneath layers and layers of a waxy dust too hard to remove. these memories have become permanently blurry, like a camera lens dipped in a vat of oil. no amount of windex spray could make the view clear enough for me to see what is or was there.

it’s like something has planted itself deep, deep within me, long ago, when these feelings of forgetfulness began. its sprouting went unnoticed, and its early thin roots wove their ways deep into the expanse of my body.

i wonder: has my mind confused this root system for its neurons? why hasn’t my body recognized this invader?

no, i must be honest with myself. i can’t even consider it a foreign object, it’s found its home within me. it is as much of me as i can imagine, as it feeds off of and lives through the parts of me that pass through its veins, nutrients that allow it to grow and grow and grow inside of me. it feeds off of my mind, syphoning day by month by year, until i am left hollowed. i am but an offering to it.

i never had varicose veins, and yet when i first noticed them, i knew they were the result of nothing else but this other being that has been - for all intents and purposes - flourishing. i walk and wonder why others haven’t noticed it eating me alive. when they joke and mention times of before, i nod and smile. i have convinced myself of whatever iteration of events they share with me. 

maybe, once this being grows too large that it expands itself outside of my small body, others will no longer deny its existence. maybe a doctor so kind and so valiant will be able to X-acto™ knife it out of me. 

or maybe, once technology has advanced enough, i can send a miniature version of myself into the disputed region that is my being. she will search far and wide, maneuvering over and under the pulsing and large roots of this monstrous being inside me, until she finds the heart. she will rip through it, almost viciously, rescuing the fragments of me from deep inside this beast that’s taken them hostage.

she will emerge triumphant with my memories in stow. yes, they will be covered in the mucus of the enemy, and they will be difficult to recognize. i will wash and clean and tend to them gently, and they will grow, slowing come back to life: in full color, clarity and crispness. 

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Feel

for Buraanbur Isaaq - Duriyadii Barakesned

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The Birds Ask

for Shimbir Yohou - Magool

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she didn’t know she could move

for Swim Good - Frank Ocean

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Everything, and Nothing.

for I’m Low On Gas And You Need A Jacket - Pierce The Veil

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And then, she starts again.

for Love Me More - Mitski

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let me tell you

for Life’s Too Short - Tinashe

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In Search Of

for Orion’s Belt - Sabrina Claudio