twelvedaysofjune

and perhaps the greatest tragedy here was not that you thought me your pawn but that i ever thought myself your queen

once, i thought to be alive was synonymous with to be moving - like a flash of lightning, or the steady drum of a flowing stream; i thought to be alive meant to dance in each storm like in the movies, instead of seeking shelter and solace. i am learning to be alive sometimes means to be still; to feel the thunder rumble my bones, to feel the earth shake - but still, i can stand, not crumble. to live, i am learning, sometimes means to be soft, velvet like flower petals, graced by wind, graced by bees. it is enough to be.

for you i dreamed to be a lake silent and still, careful enough for you to see yourself in / careful enough for you to dip in and never drown / but all i know how to be is a river, too quickly changing for you to ever catch / the water too muddy to ever see the bottom clearly / all i know how to be is myself

few as rare, but many 'round. staring at the ground talking. you should hear when i'm silent; it thunderclaps. wood splinters in my chest, bless the fragments of me i've let lie. fingers pry through my memories, dyed by err or idle worry. working out of my sternum, some wounds remain bright long after burning. returning, the winter again without snow. i set myself down on the floor, it is chilly but calming. i turn my head toward the door, soundless it mocks me. perhaps it is lonely like i am? i run my hand along the floorboards, they are colder than the carpet of my home. i miss collapsing, now i only find time to explode.

I had escaped that way of seeing truths and mistruths, so long ago the pests of manipulation are teeming in every piece of dialogue, everything I know unwritten words and actions ripple with affect and unsettle the world, dread alone can't stop tomorrow I've seen the strings of prediction influence and control, foresight is a frightening rein to forego carried off by the affliction, let it all rot in dereliction this snow globe is hot enough, preservation of your life is tough, the idea of hope is an alluring attraction that draws life over time, the fatal equation arriving at peace is the only solution Corrosive as the skulls gives to rust and self-perpetuated acid this wasteland, where no man lives chaotic, driftwood thoughts flow downstream amid a riverbed of sleeping titans, who's hatred like their tools is a weapon, the bolts hold the head together, their wrenches only tighten they snore thunder, migraines, and whole months pass sulking, shoulders bent, a cloud over me, can't

when you asked me if I ruined everything, I said yes pottery on the side of concrete walls, looked sideways at the turnstile, thinking 'I'll keep walking anyway' and let it go - I've drawn the lines on all wrong and you don't fit what a shame for the storytellers who wanted it to be when the sunny side of us could never say so

invisible as the music plays I don't cause that same swell in you I am a voice on the other side of the door

you are a light they don't deserve those who would drown you in dark hollow out your chest for blame shame the self from you . I know the skin feels ill fitting and you wish to wear some other shape or none at all but love you are entire universes vast and breathtaking you are broken cycles and all things beautiful first of your kind your mind the sun your heart so fae

and when did we know the world could be this lush and full of thorns? as rich as thistle blossom milk as light as morning sun and if i’d never felt the wind before would i still know why the trees erupt into shivers shake themselves until they splinter like i am shaken pieces lost and crying out to faces watching behind glass asking why don’t you just stop dancing? . why does the wreckage leave us wishing to still be dark and small curled into places where the serpents sleep drinking venom but safe from storms . why does some smaller part of me believe i could go back from breathing color