Biology or Prison

I look at you and notice
The cells we’ve made
(Or found)
That contain us

Alone. I look at my hands
And wonder if they’re strong enough
To break my cell
And everyone else’s too.
A hand that prides itself on softness.

When I close my eyes,
The cell remains.
When I breathe for myself,
The cell dissolves.
Let me catch my breath for a moment.
Let me feel that I am temporary.



A Secular Sabbath

If we were not so single-minded about keeping our lives moving, and for once could do nothing, perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness of never understanding ourselves.

– Pablo Neruda

We might be found, relievingly, in the silent moments between running thoughts. I am learning to notice those moments.


How Time Exists and Moves and Elopes

Do you feel what everybody feels?
Or are you alone, your soul wandering,
A mended body
Something inside, like a heart
(Or a fist)
Signalling a life
(Or a suffering)
Perhaps both.

Yet you step forward each moment
Into the forgiving future
That allows you to be whole
If you wish
And healed
If you try
And yourself
If you dare


Renting Myself

Have I fallen apart?
I wonder alone, out loud
When I see a reflection
Looking tough
(Not tough
Like a hero,
But tough,
Like overcooked meat.)
Too much heat
Too many thoughts
Too many people

(I haven’t checked in
With myself)
I am a squatter
In my own life
Remaining without rent
Without focus
(Without myself)

Me but hardly me


Uncovering / Recovering

I have filled myself with others’ stories.
Stories to avoid my own.
Stories to carry,
to ponder,
to listen to on repeat in my own head late at night,
when I am forgetting to be writing my own.

Stories of pain
and difficulty and happiness and
memories, felt or lost or forgotten
until they are told out loud.

I have been overflowing with other selves
I absorbed, mistakenly
trying to fit them into my own concave interior,
a container to be filled and shipped
somewhere far. I yearn to lock
and steal these stories inside of me,
take them to a new place where I might bury them,
and as I dig their grave, in the soil I find
myself, waiting to be lifted out and taken home.