Posts for June 1, 2022 (page 8)

i don’t understand 
you all want me to tell the truth 
but when i do you all yell at me 
and call me a liar, 
call me names so degrading 
that the devil himself begins to weep for me 
and take pity on me, 
he leaves me to the angels 
that i cannot see 

i lie cradling myself 
in the dark 
in the silence 
my tears forming a pillow to comfort my head 
as i lie under my bed 
covering my mouth,
closing my eyes
out of the fear of being heard 

i get up and run 
to the outside 
for a fresh breathe of air 
and sprawl out onto the edge ledge of my house 
with hopes of rolling off 
and falling into the flowers 
but i can’t 
for i’ll crush the fireflies
and burn out the stars
forcing the angels to leave me all alone

even though i’m surrounded by the things that i love
i know that they don’t love me
won’t ever love me 
and that’s all that i need
is their love
which is seemingly too much to ask for  

Every suicide
starts with somebody else’s
sin of omission.

There is a killer in all of us
in the same way that a dog
will bite if its cornered
or a battered wife grabs a shotgun.
Some of you haven’t heard from me in a while.
That’s because last year
I could have killed a man
and I haven’t yet figured out
if the only reason he’s still alive
is the simple fact that
I don’t own a gun.

3.
We are still so bad at mental health–
worse at emotional and spiritual.
All these years of buzzwords
like awareness or see something, say something
netted us exactly what kind of change
from the shockwave of Columbine
to the devastation of Uvalde?
Then we want to argue
if it’s a gun problem
or a mental health problem
or a national morality problem–
it’s a dead children problem!
I would hope that would be enough
for people to start considering some compromises!
After all, I’ve never seen a problem fixed
simply by admitting it exists.

4.
Man gets his arm broke
and everybody rushes
to sign the cast.

Man gets his spirit broke
and everybody rushes
to the other side of the pass.

5.
Cornered by an oppressively toxic work environment
and the health benefits I needed
for a looming surgery,
my only option
was to clock in the next day
just trying to keep
the spiraling to a minimum.

But once healthy,
it was actually not the constant abuse
and dehumanization
that finally forced me out of the job.
Rather, it was the silence of everyone
who at various times agreed
that I absolutely had a point.
Part of that silence
was the way I stopped talking.
I had started thinking
about a second option.

Nothing turns a head
like a gunshot out of place.

6.
Saw a social media post
where a girl was utterly shocked, saying,
Wait. There’s people so depressed
they don’t brush their teeth every day?

7.
Should I have put a trigger warning on this?
My hang up is
if we can’t recognize
and appropriately respond to
the sometimes very obvious signs
before reality blindsides us,
why should I protect anyone from my fiction?

8.
Of course,
the first part didn’t have to be suicide
but also every other tragedy
newsworthy or not.
It can certainly be outward aggression
toward innocents, or sometimes
making angels out of earthly devils,
but there are quiter ways to fade away.
Vice and unhealthy habits,
the inability to care for the body
or keep a clean living space,
forsaken dreams and desires,
loss of faith in humanity,
loss of hope in light,
loss of trust in God,
loss of belief in oneself.
Or even the loss of self.
You know.

Last night, I attended a virtual session
called “Words Can Help Heal: Helping You and Students Through Trauma”

and Chris Crutcher said, “{Columbine} was 9/11 for educators.”

One more thing
to fall on the shoulders of teachers,
especially English teachers…

To read, to write
To write to heal trauma

Naomi Shihab Nye said, “It will never be okay.
“It will only be further away.”  

Narrative medicine
Poetic prescription
A remedy of rants
Lists as anesthetic

There is no cure
that the United States can find.
Astonishing.

When I was in high school, I read a novel
in which a character repeatedly said, “Astonishing!”
Towards the end of the novel, another character said something like,
I think that every time you say ‘astonishing,’ you mean ‘bullshit.’

and Chris Crutcher said, “{Columbine} was 9/11 for educators.”

Naomi Shihab Nye said, “It will never be okay.
“It will only be further away.”

There is no cure
that the United States can find.
Astonishing. 

So, go ahead and thrash me
to an inch above the earth. How low
these dry stalks go, the seeds long

since dispersed after blooming ceased.
I’m not even considered
dormant. We’ll have to see if next

year a shoot greens from the old
roots. One day, I say I’m done,
but the next has me shivering

in the sunrise, my body wishing
like water in a spring. Fresh, clear,
certain I’ll run another year.

Ask 

me no questions
     tell me no lies     
          of omission         

What formula determines your roots
Site of birth or ancestral bones
State of spirit or being
Why do some sink deep roots
Others grow root bound
Do we choose home
Or does home
Choose for
Us

i am out of clementines
of cherries, plums, too.

i’ve killed the peaches
to brown in a matter 

of days. the likes of lettuce
are green in deceit, wilting  

in prayer. i empty the drawer
toss 24.57 cents worth of decay.

there is a compost class
i sign up for, feel good

then never go. waste is easy
a universe of trash impossible

i’m part of its orbit. i’m a good
girl. i water my orchids, potted

pothos, the obligatory snake
plant. i drive a subaru, earth

green to remind you i’m probably
liberal. don’t all liberals take

the garbage out? after the toss
there is still an apple, grocery

waxed, perfect. i slice and smile
how good it is to eat from this earth.

Please rat on your pain.
Give it up. Please gut your pain—
that uninhabitable house.
Please get your pain a pony
it may ride off. Please write off
your pain, that it may no longer
tax you. Please turn off your
pain that it may not turn you
on. Please pull up the turnip
of your pain and trim it and
slice it in half then into half-
moons and roast it then of course
eat your pain—digest it. Please
please your pain. Please dis-
appoint it. Make an appointment
with your pain then cancel it.

Just as an optical illusion is
a distortion of our sense of sight
History is the distortion of
of our sense of time
a multifaceted linear line drawing circles
around itself
a snake eating its own tail
It is cycle of energy given gusto,
given zephyr,
given purpose,
given flesh,

Time is an illusion
a sea of scales spinning in place
like recycled gears in a facetious factory
Each scale perpetually glistens with refractual independence:
A certain angular nuance that comes with
not knowing who you were in a past life
nor who you will be

When we die, how will time pass?
Will it be like sitting in a funeral home,
watching an infinite line of grieving gables
Meander across
an
even
longer
strand
of
seconds

I wonder if it were more cruel
for the corpse
or the cry
If time were an illusion.
If death were a cycle with no escape.
If I were god.

A friend said once (of snakes)
“You can’t trust things without shoulders”
I don’t know, but
the thing that tries to destroy us never answers in a shrug, 
even as it shows you these elbows, 
these hands, 

that soft belly—yours— abraded by dirty carpet; dark earth

I wish growing up was so simple as
tearing
scratching memories against stove corners and light switches and drawer knobs to loosen flesh and 

drop

break off in sheets and fall as fragile fossils to the foresting floor of my kitchen. I could gather and scatter 
them in the yard for crows and small children 
both of whom have shoulders
on which to carry home to their kin and caw

“Look at how small they once were, just like me.”