Soliloqui

sometimes i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i wallow in misery over the smallest things and knowing this doesn’t make me feel better. it’s so easy to put a word on something. it makes you think you can handle it. but you can’t cover it up with a label. it doesn’t fix anything, it doesn’t make it better, it doesn’t make it more palatable, it doesn’t make you feel like it’s not a big deal because someone’s been through it before and now there’s a word for it and there must be a solution since it can be identified. that would be easy. but it’s not like that.

the tap of the light switch,
the jiggle of the eyeglasses as she removes them in the darkness.
good night.

for winter, with love

the chill of the floorboards on bare feet,
the after-shower shiver,
the daybreak frost fades to dew

the cloudless cyan canvas, cold glaring sun-
lies!
my opaque breath, my hardened cheeks don’t
lie
but i take it in, this
precious painting

orange – to – blue
photoshopped gradient backdrops
behind spiny silhouettes of
suburban forests

i lie in hardened blades of grass,
face towards the slate and stars,
burning wood and ice in the wind

Even the gentlest rain is a sea of furious crack-ups and mutations. Similarly, we appear to be whole, even serene in our abundantly calm moments, but like the shape of rain, we are a deluge of small processes, interactions, and relations, changing by the nanosecond, yet somehow holding a fragile sense of self intact. -Diane Ackerman, Dawn Light