The pebble

Most of the days are the same

Every once in a while one feels different

The sunset colors are more vibrant

Every once in a while the day hits me in the chest like a bullet

What am I supposed to do when that happens?

Every once in a while

My life doesn’t feel like a painting

It’s like I’m breaking through

Some people live in places where an eruption can happen at any time

I feel no different, when

Nothing resembles each other but everything blends together like I am that painting

A rushed watercolor with colors scattered like pebbles in ponds

Every once in a while

I feel my heartbeat and it grounds me

After shocking me

After urging me to live like I’m alive rather than dying

I read the bell jar recently and Esther lost control skiing and flew like lightning through air

She broke her limbs just to feel something

I would rather break the silence with a dance, or a fateful song

I’ve lived long enough to know self harm keeps on hurting

Sometimes enduring the senseless monotony is better in the long term than violence

Because I don’t like to clean up my own messes

I don’t like to overdramatize the very real aspects of my existence that wait at every corner I turn

But they’re still there

I think every moment will turn into horror and I’ve lived on knife edges for years

But somehow I need to articulate the awareness in this body

Somehow I need to sense the life around me just so I can feel real

So I can feel a part of something

Moving is all I do but there’s no meaning

Because I’m not moving towards something I’m moving away from the vulnerability I need to have

When I’ve felt alone for 100 days I think turning inward will cause insanity

And there’s only one way to find out

I’m trying not to color the emptiness with despair because I know everything is born neutral

And I feel it’s my obligation to live in a way that doesn’t bring others to their knees

What happens when I’m gone?

What proof do I even have of being real?

In this place it’s all my work to do and I’m tired

I feel the colors becoming more saturated

But the light is fading

I need confirmation that what I’m seeing is real

I need the universe to reach out and grab my hand and tell me “you matter”

I need the wind to hit the side of my cheek at the right angle to inspire some sensation

I need my dormant spirit to turn and tingle

I need to waltz at sunset to the sound of nothing

And I need to be okay with there not being anything appealing before me

I need to accept, maybe even appreciate, the days that just hold my existence in their hands

Nothing more and nothing less

I need to learn that time is a construct and every second is both meager and meaningful

I need to find the cravings and the sensations within

So I can just enjoy what’s outside and not put pressure on it for my enlightenment

My goal is to hold my humanity high and maybe even something more, something magical, something undefined in this dim light in which my soul stirs

Maybe honoring how much of this poem is unspeakable

How much of my life has not been translated into poems

How much of my moments will never be shared or understood by others

How much my life resembles the pebble, trailing blue energy, flying not fighting, letting the guiding hand do the work.

(July 11, 2020)