Also a poem
I died today as all the days before.
Tomorrow I will die again
but I am not certain that it will last.
No one will mourn for me
I have held on beyond expectation.
No one is taught how to be happy
and no one is happy indefinitely.
I am grateful for my wounds
for the blood which colors them
like a sunset mid tantrum.
I have learned the nature of regret,
of the shadows tendency to cling
to my articulation points
and of how painful it can be to breathe
when the lungs are grasping at nothing.
I walk an ambiguous path
every impression its own miracle,
every impression buried deep beneath
the surface’s idle and fictitious monuments.
I am not remarkable in any way
and I am in no way lonelier
for the absences I have endured.
The journey hastens and at its conclusion
a hungry mouth cinches in like a noose.
I am forgotten within its vacuum,
within the tepid silhouettes that spill
haphazardly into the light when no one is looking.
Why do we always hunt for love in the dark?
My soul is grey and faceless,
an umbilicus unplugged from the source.
Freedom is another kind of prison
one that offers choices but no perfect answer.
The key is in the lock but I will not turn it.
I know this door, its texture and breadth,
its contents are unsustainable
and I have been made to eat the refuse
of countless beginnings.
I know this room which has no heart
but wears my suffering in the theatrics
of its dull red paint.
This room which faces inwards
contains no windows
and offers no hints whatsoever to the outside.
I am crushed within its fathoms,
within its corners like inverted blades.
I find myself unnecessary,
an inconvenience to even those
eager to pass with me in time.
I endure and in moments of anguish
I see that I too am a stranger.
Right – it’s Pat here, and I’m stepping in, and I hope am not stepping out of line, but this morning, all the prompt hosts received and email from Yves.
I replied to her that I would step back up and in, which is why I’m writing this difficult post, even as I haven’t yet heard back from her. I trust and hope she won’t be upset with me.
So the disruption/interruption is this: Yves has received notice that her biological father is dying.
My real dad is dying. He has cancer in his lymph nodes and they believe he won’t last much longer. I have been estranged from my dad because of abuse for 16 years. I Skyped him last night and that was very painful. He did not apologize and told me in a room of his relatives that it was all imaginary.
Given the difficult situation, and…
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