Still.
I can sense my life / under my finger
Even in green grass
some moments are grey — I seldom open
my mouth for the weight of my jaw, reluctant
eyelids, deep-set sockets —
and some do smear, into weeks
of wet grape stems, overcast
and overfull stomachs, voices through double-paned
glass, sleeping in,
I am a walking pamphlet. How could it escape me?
I cry at news good and bad
but there is not even an infant-impression
of excitement; I forget those emotions
that do not come forced. That I cannot hang up
to soak in the sun. My fingers become stuck
tugging through knotted hair: bursts of failed endeavors
along my scalp — still,
I can sense my life
under my finger, as if a groove in the woodwork.
An unbroken line from here. It is dark — but haptic,
my nerves still feel, and they fire:
there are steps I trace, they aren’t taken —
gentle furious one at a time —
but when they end, they are withered. Now, my footprint
is far too light. Imprinted with innocence,
tingling with whispers of you have no idea
what happens next
I am taking the Ferris Wheel
over and over again, pocket jingling
with sweaty tokens, waiting for that moment
when the sun just parts the clouds
and I am finally high enough to catch it,
when my head is turned,
when my eyes are open, and unshaking.
Recalling a voice from across
the field, erupting in my mouth, saying:
The world is beautiful — we will see it
all tomorrow.
And for the moment it is fine
to look down
September is Suicide Prevention Month. Day and night, we are each fighting battles that seem to span unbridgeable gulfs. There are only two things I can offer in the face of this struggle: art, and the knowledge that you are worth the battle you are fighting. There is probably no destination of happiness that we are going to arrive at one day, but within the mundanity of our lives there are gems we uncover — and we deserve to find all of them. Some things make the searching and finding easier: go after them like mad. And above all, talk. We are each fighting battles that seem to span unbridgeable gulfs. Perhaps the only bridges we can build are between us.
