Tag: reflections

Split

“Stay present,” 

He advises. 

Lovingly;
Selflessly

“I don’t want 
you split between
two places.”

I want to laugh

You see,
you’ve been with 
me, in the 
mountains of 
West Virginia. 

Along the shores 
of the
Great Lakes. 

I saw you in
the mouth of 
Mammoth Cave. 

When the fireworks 
reflected in 
the D.C. waters. 

I haven’t left 
your hometown 
in weeks. 

“I’ll do my best,”

I assure him. 

I’ve been trying 
to untangle my 
feet 
wrestle them into 
one place 

For over a year.
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Seashell

There is
something 
to the idea 
of riding the wind 
instead of stubbornly 
trying to change its direction.

I walk to the ocean's edge 
find a seashell in the sand 
I toss it back to the water. 
It doesn’t belong to me anyway. 
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contingent

There are some people
that offer their kindness
only when they believe
I belong to them 
or owe them
in some way. 

When it is revealed 
that I belong to myself
that my own kindness
was not contingent on 
attraction

their own
is rescinded.
Posted on by restlesscrescent 0

Comparison

Sometimes I
look at my poetry and
see a lack of seriousness,
of trauma.

I hear exceptional writers
describe the oppression
the discrimination
the injustice 
the world 
provides.

I wonder if my own
experiences
my own hurt
the self-made kind
the mental spirals
my self-reflections,
are as universal 
or as worthy
to be shared.

And maybe the comparison
is where the actual fallacy lives.

Is it wrong to take space
in arenas where there are no 
rules or 
standards
for how much pain a piece
must contain?

What I choose to explore
through writing
is most often 
the ways in which
I interact 
with intimacy
and the ways in which
I do not.

So maybe
I'll give myself permission
to write
without judgement.
To share without 
comparison.
Posted on by restlesscrescent 0

T-shirt

I’m thinking of
 how it felt
 waking up to the sunrise
 in a room that wasn’t my own.
  
 I watched it rise higher
 as I thought of the night before
how magic was made,
 co-created with quick wit,
 intimacy,
 hearing the stories of
 the rocks and art in your room. 
  
 I tried to rest,
 and when sleep wouldn’t take me, 
 I reached across you
 for the cup of water on your nightstand.
 You startled awake.
  
 I rose from the bed to leave.
 We talked lightly as I
 put my clothes on.
  
 I don’t remember the words you used
 or the tone in your voice
 when you instructed me to
 leave the shirt
 I had borrowed to sleep in.
  
 And I think in that moment I knew
 I wouldn’t be back in this room
 or in that bed
 or under the two blankets
 sleeping next to you without
 a pillow because you only had one.
  
 I took the T-shirt off and
 didn’t listen to your explanation
 of what it meant to you
 and don’t remember if 
I even asked
 or if I said
 something funny to blunt
 how it felt being told
 to leave this piece of you.
  
 It was in that short sentence
 I realized
 you didn’t want any loose ends.
 I would be a temporary connection,
 an afterthought.
  
 Now looking back
 at a moment meant to mean nothing
 but charged with more than
 I could’ve grasped in the
 fog of alcohol,
 I wonder what it is
 that T-shirt means to you.
  
 Maybe you just like it.
 It’s vintage and cool
 and worn and
 it looks like its traveled and
 I loved the way it felt when I put it on.
  
 When I took it off it felt cold and
 used and I
 wanted to tell you that I
 didn’t want to take it from you
 in the first place.
  
 And in hindsight I know
 that the t-shirt didn’t fit,
 it wasn’t mine to wear.
 Maybe the contrast of it on me
 was too telling.
 Maybe it was clear just how much
 it did not belong to me.
  
 It was that simple request
 to leave what was yours
 exactly where you wanted it
 that led me to hear
 what you have said from the start.
  
 In the end, 
I’m thinking
 of how it felt
 waking up to the sunrise
 in a t-shirt that wasn’t my own.
  
 I liked
 wearing something
 important to you and
 although it was temporary
 I liked how it felt.

 I liked who 
I imagined 
you saw in that t-shirt.
Posted on by restlesscrescent 0