The fortitude of my emotions strangles the process. How do I back down to then prevail?
The division between the internal and the external can be the line. Mining all my worry into dust. The sifting of sorrow — breaking thoughts, shaken clean.
So maybe that time is now, to belly-up the divide.
I’m holding the guilt of my mother — I can curve that into the light.
And the weight of my lover…I have to give up sight and find our freedom in trust.
I’m screaming out the silence of my feel — a multi-directional break. How it takes so much more to control.
So I gather myself at the window, perched high and at noon. The brightest star, traveling through. Blinding me still.
“Just take me with you,” I pray. Hoping to scare myself free.
So now, I document.
I believe I’m going to London to attend Goldsmiths University to study sonic arts. I say “I believe” because I have a few more hoops to jump through to make sure I’m able to go (financing/visa). But I’ve been accepted and will be there for a year. It’s a switch/a jump/the difference between light and dark/near and far/zero and one.
But I struggle with it. I struggle with it because it’s a risk. Which pushes me to go even more. And I’m not sure, but I might not be going alone, which would double the risk in so many directions. Either way, it’s a definitive mark, which makes me feel more and more that I have to go.
[you gave me / the rarest bleeding / a hearty bleed / to save me
but what if it’s not real / how do you know what you’re feeling / if you never knew real / if you were always pretending
now we’re here / a place that’s on high / the clouds here / are dark with your eyes
so what do you feel? / so how do you know what you’re feeling / if you never knew real / if you were always pretending
how do you do things? / how do you see dreams? / how do you do things? / how do you see dreams? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / are you fooling yourself? / are you fooling yourself? / are you fooling? / are you fooling?]
i wrote this four years ago during a run of gut intuition, inviting hours of songs being built at hearty speeds — forthright, becoming, enveloped, giving. and it’s been a while since i’ve been there, but the resemblance of my thoughts then is uncanny to my thoughts today.
there is a trust we have within ourselves that cracks the door open to worlds we can only imagine. but our imaginations are the only entities that push us forward into today, so even though they’re indeterminate, they still shape our lives with remnants of our own desires.
but accepting the doubt is just as important as accepting the good. because more than anything, we completely accept ourselves.
the problem with the line / dividing me up / between the measurements i take / and the compounded screams my body’s chambers / make / is the simple fact that it makes me see / the atrocious fear your restless heart denies
my mind getting lost in the sanctity / of your eyes / blurring the space between / where you stand / and where i need to be
my pride in a pool on the floor / i wait for you / to catch up / to our start / waves of your echoes / rattling you / behind
faultless rains / washing us clean / yet you take / the first leave
out / to secondhand streams / a blinded sip / from a cup / mistaken
loss / the formidable space / reevaluating the stacks
that i’m just another fleeting moment, in line with the past.
pushing myself with the weight of tomorrow, blindly
reeling a cast.
just needing forever.
i’m constantly defending your love. fists of hope punching blind. difficult and forthright. my next-day eyes so small and dry, unable to sleep — squinting at dawn.
And for what?
So your eyes could focus and your mouth could hear? A pathway formed by the skin of my hands, watching and waving from the side?
Is it love that carries my weight or just the abominable well of pride? A birthright established from the first disappointment of light, too bright for a baby’s eyes. My lifetime spent climbing mountains of ash — invisible forms. A daughter only known from her mother’s womb, destroyed on that day in November.
Constantly trying to keep up.
So how do I get ahead? How do I ease the burden of being my mother’s child and erase the lines of her hands drawn on my face?
But how do I also accept my tired and worn unravelings, the lack of knowing of who I really am — a pain and suffering
while faking a mile from the start of a gun.
When all I wanted was to just be ok with knowing forever.
what if your solid state
a borderline grave
to whisper the wrongs?
what kind of weakness is it
when your strength builds a cave
and bears the weight
of the emptiness is craves?
who hollows out a home?