Writing

to seek peace.

phone.

the phone rang i ignored it the phone rang ‘twas the old man the pulse of the beat across my ear i want to why not pick it up kavanaugh he croaks the grating of metal on wood good to hear ya voice young lad ‘twasn’t how’s the old situation coming along ‘twasn’t y’know i’m gonna need a little help with a little somethin’ here i ain’t helping you run your little scandal there rooster well the election’s coming up he says and if i ain’t happy with my results well you might have to live to see the wires being cut off your little toy shop there and i can hear his stupid grin through the phone the bastard i can feel myself caving on one hand you got people like barty that fucking son of a bitch screws everyone over and doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse makin’ out with jessica right in front of my eyes doesn’t think twice ‘bout it his heart done got cold as fuck and on the other hand you got people like me pussying over funding soon as the old man says he gon’ pull out i wouldn’t be surprised if barty’d been peddling with the trust but oh yeah and that friend of yours rooster screeches ya tell him to stop blathering ‘bout me ya hear me well fuck you rooster i say my friends gon’ say what they feel like sayin’ and if you don’t like that well that’s just too bad ain’t it and soon as i said it i knew i had screwed myself over and a shot of electricity flew through the phone and everything went black and i slumped onto the floor and the room was empty and there was no one in there but me and i was out

the only one.

1.
The sea on my feet, and your breath on my hair, and
  everything is the way it’s meant to be.
The warmth of your shoulder, the brush of cloth on cloth, is
  enough
To last me through the winter.
The sand whirls through my feet, but I will not fall–
Why would I, if only for you
To pick me up again?
I love her as a friend
Right?
She asks.

2.
Your eyes.
Your eyes!
Sculpted exquisitely from marbles, gleaming in the sunrise
  sunlight, looking down on me
as kindly as a soul ever could.
Your hair, flying in the wind, your smile, the most beautiful
  in the world–
I have known you five minutes,
and my life is incomplete without you.
Does she have a
boyfriend?
He asks.

3.
Your arms slip slowly out of mine, and go you must you
   say, for someone or something calls you, you say
More important than me.
A lonely tree stump but I am in the sand
For how can I wake, and how can I walk, and how can I
   speak?
Without warmth to keep me alive.
Am I interested in her?
She asks.

4.
Your smile is the warmest moon, and your face lights us up
   brighter than the night sky,
You come running to me, arms outstretched, and all I need
   is that.
To know that you are happy.
You are to me not what I am to you.
You are everything to me.

5.
Am I in love with her?
They ask.

6.
No I’m fucking not.

7.
Not everything in this world is one or the other.

mountains.

The mountains bask in glorious evening light, their peaks crested with the golden rays of hope and joy, and I, atop this one of noble many, much the same, have found what I have been searching for all my life: peace – peace with what I am, and what I am to this world, and as I look over at the sprawling fields in green and blue and pink and green, I feel a strangeness settle over me, and for once there is no work to be done when I get home, nothing due this week, or the next, and nobody to follow up with, because for once, I am doing the most important job in the world, at this moment, and nothing else matters; I turn to look at Jack, and suddenly, I feel the urge to squeeze his hand, but I don’t – I wonder if he’ll find it weird – find me weird, and think that I’m trying to make more out of this relationship than he is, and as I process that thought, I realize that I don’t care – I don’t care what he thinks, because right here, on the top of the world, it doesn’t matter what he thinks – it only matters what I think, and I want to hold hands with him, and so I gently take his hands in mine, and I squeeze them, softly at first, then harder, and I glimpse at him from the corner of my eye, and he turns to look at me, and he smiles, gently, softly, so mesmerizingly, and I smile back, or at least, I try to, and he reaches into his pocket with his other hand and he pulls it out – the small, ornate, red, velvet box – the box that caused everything, the box that brought us here, the box that made me meet him – “open it?” he asked, and I shook my head – immediately, surprising myself, for wasn’t this all that mattered, and wasn’t this why we were here, but no – I did not want to open the box, and I did not want to see what was inside, for whatever it was, and whatever I could gain from it – we could gain from it – it had already done the impossible, and it had brought us together, and it has made me happy, made me enjoy life, and made me not want to kill myself every single second of every single day, and there was nothing more that I could ask of it.

she struggles.

1.
Lightning strikes hard, like the wind strikes hard, and the
   rain strikes hard
on my tender, calloused skin. My feet hit the ground,
and I am jolted with the electricity, of the lightning above.
You run below me, fleeting
but you cannot get away.
Closer, you get a looming figure into my heart,
forever alone.

2.
I can save you, I can touch you.
My hands are outstretched.
I can sweep
you up. You will run,
with me. You will fly, to God.
But you don’t
take me.

3.
Am I not loving? Do I not care for you?
Why does she run,
away from me. She struggles so, shaking hard, free
   nonetheless.
When I can save her.

4.
The trees move in mockery,
For I am,
worse than they. She
goes to them.

5.
I am lost. This
is what it feels like,
To love.