do we come from clay or stardust? what is truth and does it matter? regardless we are left to build our own alone. some draw a lot of meaning from the thought of being: 'we are the universe witnessing itself unfolding'. others say we're accidental. with will both can be true enough.
they teach us to dance around / hide from the logical conclusion / play dumb / keep playing house a little longer for forever. we reach for the moon and let ourselves dream from our silly cells of flesh.
sleepless or lost in the fog. I hear the news but cannot see beyond myself. one step two steps somewhere drawn from dreams and my disgust. too many shadows to know. I reach for the moon like a child for the handle on the front door. in a few years maybe I'll be tall enough. for now we flounder in the thicket / where we are / coughing through the ashes of any map that might have lead us home.
we all have a pattern we must understand before we break it. emotions shape our beliefs. they may not lie but can obscure the shapes we draw to form reality. other factors shaped by context predetermine vulnerability. note their weight and work on regulation.
there are secondary emotions underscored by effects after the fact. anger is vocal. anger is the most primal secondary emotion. anger will always surface at some point wanting to get things done. anger drives us to do things and asks to be left alone. if anger is not getting what it wants it will tell you.
notice biological changes neural firing rising heart rate temperature any other body sensations. make allowance for expression face and body language words and actions.
every urge is a child needing somewhere to go. can you break down these feelings to keep them from completing themselves?
reaching again
from one bar to the next
none low enough from where I sit
bluelit in the backseat
the head on my neck between one mask and the next
another treat to chase
running from the work of tears to come
I make room for strangers in brittle boned arms
too weak to keep the score
fine enough for hanging fantasies
to scroll into decay
I am happy without thinking
with the masses
on my phone
I smile through every gap
the headlines bleed into my dreams
distraction
or some other kind of drug
diluting the subconscious just enough to keep the rain
something else to witness
cause enough to ghost the mirror
til I’m running out of laundry
and I find myself again
they teach us about our bones. when enduring extended periods of strain, the body does what it must to refuel and keep moving. without knowing we do anything we can to make the energy we need and won't otherwise find. without enough fuel we make our own from ourselves. the body milks the bones if it must. the marrow makes a bandaid til the body needs more fuel but the bones are getting too weak to do what they've been growing for.
I think about statues in the sand and in museums. mud or marble every one returns to dust with time. we're just the same just lacking stillness / acceptance / nerve to stop and wait for what's to come. we fool ourselves forever moving just to hide from what we know. with brittle bones how much more can we be than sticks or stone?
this is just medicine.
it is the way it is and that way is okay.
I am only ever where I need to be.
