sinkingintothemoss

[sinkingintothemoss]

when the rage has faded,

been ripped out of my grasp-

when my words die in my throat,

when the fight in me dies-

when i am hollow and empty,

when it fades-

when i do not think,

am I?

i am not a tree, nor am i in a forest,

but if i do not make a sound...

have I ever existed at all?

[sinkingintothemoss]

My purpose in life becomes a lot less important when I remember my dog exists only to be loved

[sinkingintothemoss]

nothing has ever felt more selfish to me than when I have loved myself

tonight as I stare up at the stars I am reminded that selfishness and selflessness are based on nothing more than intentions

I am reminded that love transcends such trivial things as the stars stare back at me

[sinkingintothemoss]

I rub the lamp thrice,

my heart heavy and my soul aching,

without the energy to jump at the sudden sound of a voice

"I will grant you three wishes."

They say. a genie, I suppose

I look up to meet their eyes, taking in their form,

nothing special stands out;

the most unassuming person I've ever seen stands before me

"What would I wish?"

I ask, looking away at the weakness of my own voice.

"Anything you like," they say solemnly, "Riches, gold, fame..."

I shake my head.

"Material?"

They nod.

I look down and allow myself to sink fully to the floor,

laying on my back,

I am met with the warm brown of a ceiling.

my soul sinks further into the earth.

"I wish life were a little easier,

maybe a little kinder,

that the cold didn't chill my bones in such a way that I am blind with it,

that my heart did not feel so very heavy,

I wish that those I've loved did not treat me so poorly,

and that I bore more than hurt in my heart,

more than the useless rage that burns my flesh and nothing more,

that my throat did not keep in every meaningful thing I've ever wanted to say,

I wish that the people I love, had never loved me at all,

that I did not condemn them with our first meeting,

not to a life of pain, I'm not nearly so deluded, but to a definite ending,

I wish I had not let them love me, knowing my end would come at my own hands."

The genie is frozen to their spot, unmoving.

"I cannot grant those..."

they say, though I can't quite pinpoint their tone,

much too tired for such a trivial thing

"I know."

I say, i have always known.

The genie opens their mouth, and I hear echoes of useless platitudes

of hope and "speak to someone, they will help.." and "it will pass",

but after over a decade, I find myself tired

"save it," I say, "Your breath is better spent elsewhere. I don't want anything more wasted on me."

We are silent.

"If you had three wishes," I muse, "what would they be?"

The genie thinks for a moment, lowering themself to lay with me in the dirt and filth of the earth

"I would wish for freedom, not my own, but for those around me,

to make a difference, maybe. It is why I live as I do.

I would wish that you could heal,

learn to live and to love once more,

for the lows to not feel so low,

for you to lean on those who could help.

I would wish for you to live."

I look over once more.

"I cannot grant those either..."

I say, weakly.

"I know.."

The genie says,

reaching out to hold my hand until it grows colder,

until 'we' do not lay there,

until the genie is alone once more,

with an empty bottle on the table a foot away.

[sinkingintothemoss]

Ive never had a green thumb

every plant ive ever had has wilted and died shortly after buying it,

and while this can mostly be attributed to inattention,

the thing I find most devastating is that they're so silent in their deaths

their leaves turn brown and wilt, but maybe you're already watering it, maybe you've moved it to a more shady or sunny patch

though I never seem to get that far

I look up to the plants wilting by the shops front door, it's brittle stems and curling leaves

I hate that they're so silent,

I never know they're thirsty until they're dying.

I'm great with kids, I know what to do when they ask, when they cry, but plants...

there is only a slow decay, they cannot speak, they cannot ask for help, they simply rot in silence

when I was a kid I would over water plants, watch them suffocating and drowning as I wondered why, they needed water, but when I gave it they died just the same, my love was violence, killing them just the same as if I had never payed attention.

now I have no choice but to wait, I keep my eye on them, wait for the signs of decay before I water them

I keep them in a perpetual state of undeath, not quite healthy or alive, but not dead.

How can I help something that does not ask?

the fear of drowning them has me starving them anyway.

I turn my head slightly left and meet my own eyes.

I think we're not so different.

[sinkingintothemoss]

I find myself looking for love, grasping and clawing at it, just as one who once could see might read Braille, in hopes of seeing the world in color once more

I find later that the cover has been nearly worn off, the spine broken and the pages torn, and it is my blindness that has kept me from noticing

to be loved is to be changed,

but to have never been loved from far too young, is to be changed as well

[sinkingintothemoss]

"Do not make homes out of people."

Then of what? Four walls? What use does that have for me? Home is where the heart is and if my heart resides with you then there are only two places in which I exist, where I belong.

When I'm with you I feel at home, I feel a kind of safety that can only be experienced when you place all that you love in one place and pray the foundation never shakes and the roof never crumbles above your head.

People and homes are not so different. My childhood home was my home and it always will be, even if it's no longer mine and I'm not welcome there anymore. The love i have shared with others is still love. I have still experienced it and just because they found a new house or a new tenant does not mean they were not once my home, that I was not once theirs.

Homes crumble in the face of natural disasters and burn in the heat of fires, people leave and change and relationships fall apart.

This is the way things have always been, there is no other way.

To love is to put down all you treasure and all you fear and say, "This home may not last, but it is still my home."

To love is to risk being buried in the rubble and forced to build from the ground up.