quarterly – first

dear me,

the first quarter of the year has ended – the first three months felt crammed, forced to be lived within days not months. i feel like i wasted the time i did not have. now, all that’s left is a carcass – the person i once was torn apart; flesh and bone. flies buzz around me. they fly in circles above my head; you’d swear i had a halo. i am not dead but this feels like death. the disappointment which lingers feels like death, and i have withered away. there was not enough time and love to water me with. the city, the work, the people, took and took and took until I was no more, until there was nothing of me left – i don’t know who i am.

the city,

full of possibility and wonder; a shine. it looked expensive, with its tall glass building. the people and ambition poured into it. the city always seemed to sparkle. it did not need the glow of the sun. the city was vain and dishonest and smoked too much. there was always smoke, and i am not a smoker. i gasped, held my breath in awe. i guess that’s why i never noticed the smoke, the vanity, the harshness – the truth of the matter. but you can only hold your breath for so long, and the city can still lose its luster.

the work,

how i have become it’s prey; have it sink its teeth at the back of my neck. hold me there until i am too tired to fight for release. it’s teeth ruptured skin and veins, now my heart beat is interrupted. my purpose now irregular, now misguided, now exhausted. it is ripping me apart; flesh and whole. all the time i’ve ever had lost between the intervals of struggled breaths. there are pieces of me scattered – i am incomplete again; broken. what a mess this is. what a bloody mess this is.

the people,

as for them, there are too many and most lack understanding. they want me to conform, break pieces of myself to fit their expectations. they want me to be silent. i am too deviant; loudmouthed and opinionated. there is a fire to my words, and they are scared i’m going to burn everything to the ground. so they come in masses and surround me. they take their aim with their sharp words and even sharper sentences; sometimes i am cut, other times deeply. now, i hardly alone – there is always someone suffocating my introvertedness.

these three months

have given me so much, but it has also taken more. i have not been able to replenish myself. i have not feed myself with: love, time, compassion, books, poetry, dancing, myself. i am starving for myself; i crave a fullness of myself. i hope i get that, i hope i get myself back; whole and beautiful.

love always,

s.

dear you

i miss you — more accurately i miss who you were. i miss who you were before you felt the crisp snap of life breaking, feeling the pain tug at your heart. before your mind was overflowing with the negative thoughts, thoughts which put out your light. i miss your fire; how you would burn everything in your wake to clear a path. i miss your smile, and how radiant it was. i miss you, in all your entirety.

and now you feel empty: of poetry, of hope, of life. you feel blue — the kind of melancholy that burns your throat as it slithers down. the kind that starves your mouth of words, and all that’s left is a silence that is not yours. the kind which makes your tears too exhausted to run down your face.

sometimes i wonder if you had too much life within you, that you give so much of yourself in poetry or art — you know the secret to immortality and this is your punishment. life might be crushing you because you are too much.

i miss you, and i know it hurts. i know the world is not perfect but neither are we; that should make you feel better. you don’t have to be perfect and the world doesn’t always have to be bad — there is still good in it, so much good. there is good in you too.

it’s okay to not know, and be hurt. feel it. don’t be ashamed of it. there’s nothing shameful about not knowing, and being hurt by that. it’s okay. it’s okay. it’s okay. you’ve got nothing to fear. i’m here. i’m here. i’m here.

love always,

s.