I spot dirt
In my contact lens
My world appears
As a strain
Of peripheral errors,
Too much -
And looking close
Though we mustn’t
At what blatant
For rejecting sight
Painted by hues
When discovering freedoms
If perceived beyond limits -
⁃ J. Pigno
I will write, and write, I’ll pour my soul out on paper and still you refuse to let me fill your cup.
But after all we are mere strangers, waiting for a train to come.
Looking at people pass by wondering what type of stories their eyes hold
While we exchange glances not daring to express our thoughts.
There’s an anticipating stillness in the air between us.
Oh stranger if only you knew how longingly I look upon you every time.
Since we met my days are filled with details,
the gentle brush against my shoulder, a fleeting welcoming glance, a secretive grin, only for my eyes to see.
The delicately crafted love language we’ve built piece by piece, day by day while we wait for the train.
It fills me with nostalgia each time we must depart.
My heart hammers in my chest at the hunch of you finally whispering ‘Shall we get a cup of tea?’ With a dashing smile.
How much busier do I have to get, to not think of you?
excerpts of some things i’ve been working on recently
if the roles were reversed
and the sun couldn’t shine unless it was
surrounded by darkness and the moon
couldn’t move a tide until there was daylight
i wonder if you’d still wish
all that you are upon the stars
if i broke your heart in the same way
that you broke mine
i wonder if you’d be as gracious as me
i doubt that i’d be the person you miss
but i wonder if forgiving me would the first
thing on your mind but the last thing
on your to do list
Sometimes things go wrong. People leave. Hearts break. Stuff that you didn’t want to happen, happens. Experiences that are out of your control hit you like a wall, and there’s nothing you can do other than accept this phase of life. In those moments, it’s hard to believe that life will be okay again. Because how can it be when everything is going wrong. But things have to get better, don’t they? Bad stuff happens in order for us to appreciate the good, and often things fall appart so that the pieces can join together in a new way—the way they were supposed to.
my head hurts. my chest aches. every day i wake up and there’s mud in the grooves of my teeth and bruises blooming along my edges. do you think people see that we are trying? do you think our parents can tell we are falling apart? i don’t think so. i don’t think so, i tell you. i think they’re falling apart too. nobody knows how to handle this. no one knows what to do. you don’t like that answer. neither do i.
i don’t know how to be kind to myself so i am kind to others. i call my friends when i see worrying messages. i tell them it’s so we can do homework—it’s really so i know they’re okay, even if it’s just for a few hours. i talk about gender, i talk about love. i watch the videos i’m sent and i promise i’ll play video games with people that i have never even fathomed playing. i share an earbud, even if it’s through discord’s spotify share service. i listen and i soothe and i record myself playing songs that i learned to keep someone alive. (was that someone me? or was it you?) every day i give away. i don’t expect much in return. tolerate me, let me pester you with too many thoughts and meet my eyes when i overshare or bring up something too heavy on accident. tell me you love me every once in a while. send me a photo that reminds me of you. it’s enough. (is it enough?) yes, it’s enough. you smile. you’re safe. that’s all i really need. as long as i have you i know i’ll be okay too, eventually. my weight is half a ton of yours. i always end up on the other side.
(when did you start doing this?)
(i don’t know. it just came about.)
(when was the last time you cracked yourself open?)
(there’s nothing to see there. it’s just coconut water and sand. the meat has been eaten by bugs and if you shake me you’ll hear tv static. i’m okay, i promise. things will grow back eventually.)
(when is eventually, love? when the world is no longer ending? what if it keeps ending? what if it never stops?)
(it will stop.)
(how do you know?)
(it just will. please don’t push me any further.)
(fine. you know you can talk to me, right?)
(i know. i have nothing to say. even if i did, neither would you.)
(i know too. but it helps, doesn’t it?)
(no. not really. i feel like a burden again. i feel like a child. i am a liability all over again.)
(i know. it doesn’t make it feel any less so.)
(i know. trust me.)
so i help you. i patch your wounds. i let mine fester but i’m snowblind and sunburnt so i don’t feel them rot. i kiss your face. i don’t ask for a speck back. i don’t know if i could or how to. i don’t know how to accept that. i sound insincere when all i want to do is cry at the smallest gesture. i say thank you a lot. i hope you hear it in my voice how much i love you too. how unconditionally i care. how quickly i would drop the sky from my hands to pick you back up after you’ve fallen. i love you, wholeheartedly, familiarly, gently. i hope you see that you are a friend and to someone like me a hand to hold and someone to split my candy bar with is all i ever wanted. growing up i just wanted someone next to me. i just wanted someone to like me and tell me they’d pick me first for every project, every game of two square, every quiz in the back of every magazine. i have you now. i have you.
and more importantly, you have me. you have me. when you need me and when you don’t i will be there. i will make you chicken soup with words and my mother’s bone broth and i will lay with you until the fever breaks and you can look at the stars without tears in your eyes. breathe with me, and remember i care?
(it is not about me.
just keep breathing.)
Found some old thoughts written down on a bad day.
Past issues that were solved.
But that’s how I deal with my angst.
I put it on the paper and out of my heart.
This year morgues served welcome drinks no one ever wanted. We inclined towards ice skating, tiptoeing with skates on sheets of paranoia and uncertainty. Silly! You don’t tiptoe on ice, you will plummet like snowflakes that never had the chance to twirl magically in a Disney movie.
You will arrest yourself in wormholes that never learned to break the fourth wall. The walls will try to befriend you with fading necromancy of healing and promises made in dead languages. You are swirling in a blackhole like a water park ride that never ended and you are desperate. So damn desperate for an escape from your thoughts, a for else loop of non-terminating numbers.
You are an insomniac cadaver, enchanted by the aura of life whispered in a language without subtitles. Those whispers cradle you to sleep when birds start chirruping and you listen to them on loop, skipping all the songs in your Spotify playlist named “reality”. You listen, you listen as they slowly choke you like the sleeping pills your mother is addicted to. The claustrophobia spreads in your intestines and suddenly you can’t differentiate if you ate candy or mothballs. You are tired, your bed is a cold locker, and your existence a cryofreezer that Captain America can’t save.
But you listen, you listen to the dead languages spilling turpentine in your ears, who knew choking on claustrophobia was poetry coming and going like tides romancing with the moon. Your heart and mind are a frenemies trope of a cliché high school pulp fiction and when your mind apologizes to you for being a suitcase above the airport weight limit, it is hard to forgive. It is hard to forgive someone who isn’t even sorry.
Productivity is the creepy stalker on the Internet you are running away from, your poetry is in ruins. Maybe because you are starting to forget your language, maybe you are becoming fluent in a language so dead that you don’t know if you are even living. You are so tired of being tired, yet you listen, you listen.
//“excerpts from the pandemonium of my mind”// enigma (instagram)
how am i supposed to have a favourite season?
when in the summer everything is bright and humid and lonesome, the trees standing in a solitary shade of green while i feel so out of step of life, the days dwindling down and down with meaningless tasks until boom;
i’m in autumn now and hope to find refuge in the orange and fire embers of the branches now that she’s not haunting my life, a shadow now faded, but the trees changing colours only help to accentuate the fact i still feel the same.
snow will slowly drift down and it is winter. the nights creep up and up on me until i am perpetually surrounded by darkness. white ambient snow falls and falls silently, screaming but breathless until it melts and the grass is green and it is now spring.
everything is alive snd growing and beautiful snd my insides echo with newness and freshness and it is so strange i can’t savour it. i tear grass up clump by clump trying to find some sort of familiarity but then green turns yellow and i am now once again in summer.
I follow the lights
while I walk the lonely streets during the night
I see those boney people, I wonder how they got here
were they lost too?
This is their home,
These streets? Put life in their steps
the sky, roof over their heads
And I’m jealous
I joined them
in their fight
to create sweet night
for the weather to standstill, not fluctuate