Thursday, July 30, 2009

Havent slept in awhile.

The clock is a time bomb
It hurries me along
Hurries me into sleep.
Or what would of been sleep
Had I not been hurried.

I squeeze my eyes shut
Ticking . . . . Ticking . . . .
Like some automated machine
Worries come to mind
I wish I could quiet them with dreaming.
My head pounds
My body spins upside down.
Ticking . . . . Ticking . . . .
(God! Shut UP!)

Oh Jesus,
Was this your gethsemane?
The sweat pouring down like blood.
But you did not have this clock.
My eyes jump and rove

7:45 . . .

7:47 . . .

7:50 . . .

To that sweet face.
My limbs ache.
I twitch like an addict.
Maybe I am an addict.
I don't think I would care.

If only I were dreaming this,
Instead of half dreaming.
Instead of stepping in two worlds
Oh, let me step in one.

I am both fish and man
Swallowing this humidity in great gulps.

Then let me spin
And not choose one over the other.
Til the day is out.
Til I can rest these eyes stuck with grit
And lay this body in sheets filled with it.
I can be fish
Or man
If I choose.

I can have hours to dream
Instead of minutes.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Nothing is That Was Not Before

I saw something that made me sad today.
I wont, . . . No, I will not tell you.
Keeping the secret is keeping the beauty to me.
Keeping the emptiness.
Keeping the hollow ache . . . the one that makes it hurt to breath.
And you somehow now feel special because you've kept it to your self.

When I started this I meant to tell you something.
Something about the uncertainty and missing you.
Fuck it. It's gone now, Like so many lost thoughts I don't bother to write down anymore.
I meant to say that from missing you I buried myself in the damp wet earth
I covered myself from the sun because it was like your love
And I lay there in the dark dreaming of your warmth.
But that's utter shit, isn't it?

It all is.
Maybe it always was.
But who am I trying to impress.
I cannot satisfy myself and that is the key
The buzzing of the hive
That tells me I'm no good.
And the voices are all my own.
They prick me, stinging venom,
I lie here uncomfortable
but hardly fatal
Hardly in danger
Hardly imported enough to matter.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Jorden. on the baby we lost.

I thought about you today.

I know they said I shouldn't.
It wont help my depression, but I don't care.
It's your birthday and you deserve to be remembered.

I recall the whole terrible time just in bits and snippets.
A pause outside your mothers door, Images of the hospital, being held as I cried on my birthday, your little booties going back in their pink tissue paper box. . .
That was the most haunting I think, . . . the clothing.

I remember for months I couldn't stop starring at them. Tiny onesies, jumpers, little sock's and booties . . . I wonder into the infant section of every store and gaze at them. Maybe stopping to touch the softer them soft fabric made with such love and care.
For the first month or so I found myself actually shopping, which made it worse. I would forget for a moment, picking up this and that trying to decide between a pink or yellow romper . . . but then I would remember. I'd fold them up neatly placing them back on the shelf. There would be no need for baby clothing now.

Before I use to sit dreaming of how you would look. Would you have your mothers wide blue eyes? your fathers dark wavy hair? I was so sure you would.
Imagining holding you, your tiny hand wrapped around my finger, perfect in every way. I would lie awake at night thinking I would give anything in the world to hear the sound of your soft breathing. To feel the barely noticeable weight of your immaculate fragile body tucked against mine, your round distended infant belly rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.

I had many restless nights.

Then there were the dreams. The horrible nightmares I'd awake from, sobbing with no comfort. Crying out to God, to the dark, to anything, for you - to have you back. I'd curl up in a ball and through my tears whisper your name.

There was this empty spot where I know you should of been. Life jarring along, trying to resume it's usual pace. Through the show of rushing confusion, everyone dancing around the subject of you, I grew apathetic.
I tried to find things to fill the space. I tried so hard and soon I could sleep through some nights. I went a day then two with out thinking of you. They would say I got better, and maybe i did. But I didn't forget.
I still glance at babies differently, I still pause when I hear you name. I still remember.

It's been years. I count them off. You would of been five now.

In my mind I see you dancing in a field, your dark hair waving in the wind. I lay a kiss on your forehead and tell you I love you. To the child that never was, the girl that was never born . . .

Happy birthday Jordan.