Graveyards are so much more than a final resting place
They are a collection of memories, shattered dreams, and half forgotten hopes.
A collection of consciousness laying underneath a curated lawn.
Perhaps that’s why, on the clearest day, a breeze always blows
It’s the whispered conversation of souls
My dear,
You were never meant to pick up the pieces of a life cut too short.
It is the cruelty of existence that requires you to soldier on. It is not God’s will, it is not fate. It is…happenstance. And you have met it with wide eyed courage.
You must feel forgotten. Overlooked and overwhelmed. Angry at the world or God or the Universe for leaving you behind.
Guilty for your anger. Guilty for your rage. Guilty for all the roiling emotions that ebb and flow with the circadian rhythm of the day.
Because you’re the one who stayed.
My dear, I see you. I see your youth. I see your bright soul alight with childish wonder.
I see how it’s dimmed now that you can no longer explore the vast expanse of this incandescent world with the man you love.
You’re a changeling. Alone in the bizarre shadow called Earth now stripped of light.
But please remember…
Grief is not attached to morality.
Grief simply is.
You will feel knives of anger, shards of hatred, and moments of spite. You will feel sparks of joy, bubbles of love, and waves of compassion. And all this will barrage you in staccato rhymes of confusion.
Because you were left behind.
But my dear, you are not forgotten. Though it may seem that way.
You were left behind. But we are by your side.
A roar
Like rushing water
Fills my head
It’s all encompassing
enveloping me in a frenzy of fear
impossible to break free
The river rages and heightens until the flood waters peak
and I drift slowly back down
to reality.
Loneliness
It’s a feeling we’re all familiar with
But have you heard
Of lonely satisfaction?
It’s the feeling of newly unwrapped presents
The chill of first snow
The scent of your lovers sweatshirt
Found, tossed aside, in the corner of your house.
Lonely satisfaction is
Coming home from vacation
Or 501 pm on a Friday
It’s things accomplished
But a future
Not yet materialized.
In America
Kids are always the battle ground
What they read
What we teach them
How we raise them
Yet in our hubris
We allowed 8 million of them
To be stricken with grief
You see
We were too busy arguing
To care about the consequence
Empty checkboxes
And a mind that’s zig zagging
Still manage to impress
From the outside in
Yet I have never mastered
Impressing myself
We drink our coffee
Skid into our parking spot
Late, by two minutes
The day is a drudge
Much the same as yesterday,
As will be tomorrow
Oblivious to
The obliteration of
An entire culture
That’s what we call progress
Record heat persists
Living beside intense fires
And massive flooding
The stripping of rights
Polarizing of nations
Anger…everywhere
But this damn sunrise
Is so fucking beautiful
That we snap photos
Rather than bask in the bright
And vivid moment
A simple reminder:
Toxic relationships are
Not just reserved
For lovers
They can be an entity, a corporation
A job
Even a Vice
Before you leave it’s like
Sucking all air through a straw
Colors are muted, and gray
But once you’re free…
The world is as bright as a birthday cake
And equally exciting.
Storms in the west
Floods in the south
We’re watching it happen
But shutting our mouth
Record heat in the east
And in the north too
Shaking our heads
What’s there to do?
Nothing can change until we make it so
Revolution is coming
And lots of sorrow
Hipstory 