cosmic disconnect
Sweeping dirt off the forest floor,
I long to hit linoleum. Clean and blank as a new life.
There is a place where things resolve, like chemicals.
I believe that it exists.
So many ways to suffer. Some better than others.
Some pain draws close to beauty; it folds you in.
Fearing that pain, you limp into affliction, where nothing good is.
That’s what I tried to tell you.
Do you still care what I think?
Listen. Close. I want you to know.
First, separate fantasy and reality: both existing, never touching.
This clarifies desire. You can want something without wanting it.
Now, sublimate them both to dreams.
I’m invisible, so I come close. I look at your face without fear.
Strong angles, eyes turned down. You don’t see me, then put your arm around me—
I wake up. You ask what I dreamed about. I can’t tell you—I pull you closer—
I wake up—
wounded.
It’s not easy to be angry with someone who’s so angry with themself. It feels like ganging up.
But what room is left for me?
Stunted, anger becomes impotent and turns inward into shame.
You want me to feel bad for you? I do. Do you ever feel bad for me?
Discovery: I’ve been abandoned
in a hollow forest. Structure without life.
A match spits sparks. I tried to tell you:
A death deserves a funeral.
Dead battery tripping on ignition.
My bravery only breaks so far.
Ximena said, “Looking back at pain can turn you into salt.”
Chemical burns on the backs of my hands.