Cauterize

The first time I learned that you could burn the ends of a polyester lanyard to prevent fraying, I was mesmerized.

The way the plastic simultaneously burns and melts. The strands meld together, forming a shiny bead that’s almost clay-like.

And once it cools it’s stuck. No more unraveling.

Durable. Ready to face the world.

I start to wonder: how many of my wounds must be cauterized in order to heal?

consumption

When you stepped into my life you forgot to shut the door behind you.

A rainbow of feelings flooded in.

Suddenly I could taste blue and feel red. The sound of purple and the smell of green.

And I drowned.

I could taste your eyes.

The sound of your skin and hand feel of your heart.

How I’d gaze into your tenderness and breathe in your disposition.

Did I consume you, or did you consume me?

iced tea

I kiss the spaces between my fingers

and whisper sweet nothings to the moments of silence that greet me each morning.

I hug the emptiness on the other side of my bed

and pour a cup of tea for the empty chair opposite of me.

It turns cold

but I don’t mind.

It’ll be the perfect strength to make iced tea this afternoon.

swallow

That sharp pricking feeling in my nose right before a tear drops from my eyes.

The dull and hollow ache right below my sternum. It only lasts for a few seconds, but it was there.

I mull over the words in my mind, over and over again. I know what I want to say. Word for word. I picked each one of them carefully and arranged them perfectly. Like a bouquet.

My breath hitches as soon as I open my mouth.

I can just see it now, left on the kitchen table. Still wrapped in paper. It only takes a few days for them to shrivel up and brown.

So I choke back the petals and let the stems form a lump in my throat.

You’ll never know that I removed all the thorns for you.

On Journaling:

I write, finding solace in the idea that these words are my own.

That no other eyes will graze this page and that my dreams and delusions live in solitude.

Simultaneously, that is precisely why I write, finding emptiness after every sentence.

Like I am screaming into the void without even an echo to affirm my thoughts.

My dreams and delusions stay stagnant.

They do not know what it feels like to converse with another soul.