#so this was the alleged attempt at less depressing LMAO 'tis the season or whatever i suppose. 🥂

[jvzebel-x]

2011 ~ present 💝

sometimes, i have dreams.

&the tides pull me under: rip me apart.

toss me between the waves of the Styx junction,

run me down&mow me over with the ferry for lack of payment,

pyrite coin cracked between my teeth.

&i lose myself:

sink down to the bottom where the silt is made of crushed stars&pulverized dreams,

look down to see Nyx with her arms raised high,

parting realities&sorting timelines like delicate fingers over tangled knotwork.

when i open my mouth, lifetimes flood my lungs:

i am a thousand different selves from a thousand different realities,

an entire universe sprawling&branching,

tendrils of realities in every direction separated only by this decision here,

that pause there,

the choice in the middle.

&i stare into the eyes of an endless Goddess,

feel the universe that lives within me overlap&weave through endless possibilities,

&i know this is the promised land.

sometimes, i go through the promised land.

&the grass is never greener:

but, i think, that's perhaps the point.

fields of fresh flowers are heaven until the wolves come out to play,

&polished wooden floors look perfect until the termites chew through.

milk can't nourish those who can't drink it,

&honey will taste bland to tongues coated in white cane sugar.

but we were told there was a heaven, weren't we?

when we went to build the tower,

didn't it crumble,

crushed to dust by hubris like a double-edged sword:

a god who exists, but only in violence?

so we break down the walls, but the rooms within are bare--

so we assume we've been lied to, but perhaps we misunderstood.

language can be as flexible as reality,

&we bend&twist until the world looks like a kaleidoscope,

&through the stars&clouds&roses,

even a washed out back alley can be paradise, after all.

sometimes, i sleep in back alleys.

&the ground is cold,

but it never lied&said it would be warm.

&the night is young,

but it ages all those in it like the sand of an hourglass...

&we're all drowning.

but i would sooner drown than burn,

take the low road&risk the lap of the water

than the high one&risk the melt of the sun.

they say Apollo loved Icarus,

but every needle i've ever had pierce my skin felt like it loved me, too.

they say Daedalus was the survivor,

but it's the son with the reckless smile we remember, isn't it?

the god of my youth was terrifying,

had the mouth of my mother&the eyes of my father,

the teeth of the Sphinx behind scripture of hellfire for those like me.

they said that god loved me, too,

but it wasnt god who taught me how to love in those back alleys:

just waited for repentance when i crawled back on bloodied hands&knees.

sometimes, i beg god for help.

&they say this god never wanted blood as sacrifice,

but i don't know if he's ever accepted me without some of my own to offer first.

&they say this god is a loving one,

but i don't think he&i have ever defined love the same.

&they say this god is never wrong,

but why is he allowed to never be wrong if i'm still a mistake?

my mother told me once that i couldn't control myself:

described me like a wild dog with hell in her eyes,

told me prayer was the answer to the voices in my head,

said i could be perfect if i tried because i was her miracle from god.

but when a miracle is a river of blood,

when a miracle is a city buried in ash&a pillar of salt,

when a miracle is the prophesy of death within a dream...

what does it mean to be one?

sometimes, i have dreams.