Silence
I have no passion,
to write something.
When I don’t,
want to feel anything.
Drove by my local fire station today solar panels line their roof.
every December I drop off toys for tots and treats for firefighters.
always young well mannered men answer the door. Wonder how
they bond spending hours together on 24/7 shifts. Saving homes
and lives, searching for family members, including pets left in the scuffle.
reviving overdoses, elder falls, finding Golden alerts, Amber alerts,
abandoned babes. On a, adrenaline alert 24 /7 to give a helping hand.
saving us from ourselves, including climate change.
Disturbance, ejection, emission
from a grand magnetic storm,
the sky spewing its worn wrath
in a final tide of conspicuous color:
sage green for the eddying envy
and magenta for the bright hurt.
Eyes widen, blinded by the hues:
the sage is the glint of the sea,
the blood-pink the tint of peonies.
I have lived a life of silence
Solitude coexisting with worry
That I wouldn’t be good enough
That my ability
To be awake
Alert to all my senses
That cause a chaotic wave
Of power and heat
Was seen as too much
Too boastful
I clamped my mouth tight
Holding onto the secrets
Of a life so full of joy
To accommodate those
Who live a life of less
Of those who seek complacency
Instead of the many wonders
Of passion or pain
That fear of not knowing
Creating their own sollitude
But I wish to come forth
Wild and maddened
With all that I feel
All that I know
To love furiously
To dance wildly
To live freely
He looked down at me
And I wish his eyes held regret
Or even pity
But the dim gas station lighting
Only revealed boredom
And he said it so easily
Told me we couldn’t be together
The same way he’d say anything else
No stutters, no hesitation
Just a shrug and a yawn, as he broke down my heart
He stood and stared for a little bit
At my shrunken state
Giving the girl in front of him a little bone,
He sighed, “Maybe you’ll get another chance in the future,
Heck, you might get a chance tomorrow.”
I wrapped my whole body tightly together as he left
Making up for the lack of warmth
Staring at the back of his neck, getting smaller and smaller
Squeezing my feeble limbs, tighter and tighter
And when my veins were popping out of my skin I realized
There’s no second chance for me,
for it’s already tomorrow.
It’s already tomorrow in Japan.
It’s already tomorrow in Japan and
I haven’t gotten my second chance.
My second chance.
He promised me a second chance.
I giggled to myself at that fact,
I excitedly pulled the knife’s polished handle
Sticking slightly out of my pocket,
Knowing no one is allowed to break a promise.
My alibi? Simple:
“But it was tomorrow. In Japan, at least.”
What if I can’t talk
about pink white cosmos pe-
tals round, yellow dot?
My silver bucket planter
overflows–Surprises–everyday.
An old friend materializes like a forest fairy,
Will I ever stop being afraid of you?
I set a small boundary
and refuse to answer your question.
Your rage bubbles up out of nowhere.
You utter a bitter “fuck”
even though you hate that word.
You interrogate me.
You try to shame me.
I have spent my life
afraid of your anger,
living small
to avoid your wrath.
Many are the times
I have wanted to
kill myself
after a guilt tripping lecture
from you.
You have the power to destroy me
or, even worse,
make me destroy myself.
I used to think I’d be free
after your death.
But the nagging voice in my head
and the constant dread
of everything shattering
without warning,
those are forever.
I keep trying to
stop writing but the poems just
keep wandering in
like little kittens they come
wide-eyed, imprisoning me
