ode to a burning home

we’ll say it’s clouded over

sweater weather come early

we will lift up the boxes of times long gone

and fall down the stairs

we will swim against the current

and gulp down the seawater

even if it scratches our throats

let the waves rock us back and forth

and dull the aching pain

dock slivers and rope

we will duct tape over the holes in the ceiling

and tell ourselves not to breathe in the smoke

as heat ripples off the highway

and the mirage will whisper promises of caramel and hope

so we’ll kiss and watch the sunset

and i’ll get used to it, slowly

’cause it only gets worse from here on out

cause help has been on its way for years now

cause i am gasping and out of breath

gasoline and bloodshed dripping down my nose

i am bitter and prideful

united in my hatred and alone in my fury

i’m not ready

to go to bed

so please don’t turn off the lights already

So, as I write this it’s the start of wildfire season, which is always really depressing–and to just add to the fun, we’re having another heatwave, and I was feeling contemplative and very ominous and dramatic. It’s been one of those days, I guess. I don’t mean to be, like, too nihilistic or depressing–but I don’t know, to be honest, it’s hard not to feel that way most days.

earth day

i’m scared this society was designed more to make money than to make us happy. // i’m scared i’m a bird caught up in a bird cage i am scared for the future i am scared & i don’t know what to do about it. i don’t know what the right thing is. i don’t know what to say. i don’t know what to tell you when you cry on my shoulder i don’t want to lie & i don’t know what the truth is either. & i’m not sure if the universe really cares about comfort & this is probably how i become both a crappy friend & a bystander. // but it’s harder to watch the world get drier and drier hotter & hotter in slow motion in slow motion the songs we’ve written about the earth should not be the ones about dying. // is this all we were ever meant to be? self-destructive creative geniuses scientists inventors thinkers explorers we are vincent van gogh all this beauty, self-destructing because it could not hold itself inside one body. i should not give in so easily. // i should not see myself in the world this way. but i do. i do see. the way you see the world when you first put on a pair of new glasses, the colours a little more intense than reality. reality. so. i try to bury myself in games of pretend because pretending is easier than feeling, and how do you fall in hope with boys with sad eyes in the hallways when the world is standing on a cliff, wondering what would happen if we jumped? i’m searching every single one of your eyes for the answers, except i don’t have the answers, except. you are only a person. // except we can’t help but hold hands in our loneliness, allowing spaghetti pots to boil over because i was scared if i touched something i’d get burnt, & i know you didn’t intend for it to be this way, but this is who i am, and i’m sorry if i’m a failure. i’m sorry that none of your hope worked. that none of the dreams worked. that none of the promises worked. i’m sorry, that it turned out this way. i’m sorry, that we’re holding hands in our loneliness and half of us don’t even realize that there was someone there. we are sitting in a circle at a support group living out the first three seconds over and over again, not sure how to say anything to each other. i’m sorry. that in our large, we have become tiny.  if my heart is only a raindrop, is it worth falling anyway? because i’m wrapping my arms around myself in a hurricane. because i’m hiding from reality in a blizzard. because i’ve read the stories, and i am not a hero, ok? i’m not the kind of person who listens to happy music and feels the whole sky widen in a way that’s anything more than temporary. and the truth is, i don’t know how to laugh without feeling numb on the inside. don’t know how to look pretty in the morning. don’t know how to get my shit together and figure out what i’m doing.  when i say i am a mess i mean i speak in a different language. ask me to speak normal & you will get broken english my syllables like fledgling birds that barely know how to fly flapping their wings rapidly and barely avoiding slapping into the ground. // & the truth is, i feel most days like what would happen if you took a hundred thousand puzzles hid the boxes and gave yourself a lifetime to sort through the pieces.  // there’s no deadline, no instruction manual, just you in your mind. and maybe this is a sign that the world doesn’t need my voice anyway, because you are an idealist, and mostly i am a hurricane.

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