The silence leaves sorrow in my mouth, now
I taste woodsmoke, and my mom’s lasagna
A memory made out of something that
never came home, in the end
A stuttered pause
I went below the surface
too long, too much again
they couldn’t breathe around me
The silence leaves heartache in my mouth, now
I taste herbal tea, and sprite as it runs through my fingers
I carefully went along, ever watchful
for a safe place to build a den
But there was no room, in the end
So, I packed my truth tightly
my flag of the wild
as my eyes dimmed
treasures swept aside
I’m being a pansy.
I’m not facing my own truth. I’m just wallowing in pain without sifting through it and past it. I’m bored, I chafe. I want something to happen in my life.
You do you. You change you. It’s not up to my doctors and support network to handle me like a fucking egg until I hatch. Who the hell wants that? Fly, birdie, fly. Find what keeps you alive, as long as you’re not hurting anyone else, I think is what Kate Bornstein said. I’ve never been good at healing my pain with words, personally. I do it, every week, but I’ve got to stretch it, like a muscle, with action. It’s been cramped up small. When I do talk I feel like I’m making excuses. So what works for me is probably rugby and singing, so I’ve got to get on that.. I don’t want to die right now, but I do feel like I’m wasting time.
Plant a tree, you know what I mean? Leave your mark well, don’t just pass through here like a dismal ghost.
Be your own anchor, your own wind.
Most of all? Get. UP.