February Recap
I am very proud of myself this month. I have been dealing with Imposter Syndrome for a while, and my writing has suffered because of it. I believed that no one would like or see my work, that I would never be known for my work, but I still wrote. I wrote for myself, and I loved what I wrote. Note to self, you can love yourself during February too.
During the month of February, I posted 11 times; 9 poems and two short stories, the most I have posted since I started my Substack three years ago. Things that I have let collect dust.
Here are a few of my favorite pieces from this month. Please keep writing, for yourself, don’t worry about what ifs, just keep doing what you love. Thank you.
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On another planet,
we are still lovers,
tethered to each other,
spinning around in a Dark Room.
I lost my helmet during the dance,
now, we pass oxygen from my lips to yours,
if we stop, I will die,
an alien thought that drifts into orbit,
to be burned out of my mind
like a lucky star.
I watch the jets cross-stitch
the sunset,
my fingers trek across my rib to find my heart, it kicks against me.
I thought it was always going to be a crater,
that it would just be a monument
that men got to visit as a ghost town.
The Moon knows the Sun,
that’s why she shines,
even in the dark.
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Bury the dead
A chill left my bones, evaporated,
like a soul leaving a bed bound body at the words,
“For a while now.”
The spell you spun lifts
and I wake up in the confines of this coffin we called a relationship,
and put it to rest, before I am forgotten, and sink in to madness.
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Time Capsule
My hands comb through sediment of loose left socks,
pushing the refuse up to my chest to be buckled with my non dominant arm as I continue to mine for that band tee shirt I really wanted to wear this weekend,
breath catches in my throat,
the canary dies.
I am left to hear my body hold back a cry
it slips through the chamber of my throat, catches in my teeth, and is swallowed down into the pit of my lungs,
then cloys up the brachial trees to attempt the feat all over again.
My cheeks flush,
sinuses flare up,
the pressure of tears rise and press under my eyelids,
my heart tips from my ribcage to look at it -
the sweatshirt I wore when
my world collapsed.
I thought I had cleaned myself of the sadness,
I was tired of seeing that day in my hands, my eyes,
carrying it for weeks, sleeping with aching ribs and a heavy heart.
I loved this sweatshirt.
I never knew that it would be who I was when I heard the news.
How funny, how we bury pain but it always comes back, like daffodils after winter,
like birds migrating,
it must be seen, heard, unearthed,
before it grows over and gains control.
I scoop the sweatshirt.
I close my eyes and remember arms squeezing it as we grieved over the words,
“We lost her.”
I breath the January stuck in the fabric,
sitting in the rubble of loose socks,
stained jeans,
and other articles of existence.
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There were never dragons, were there?
No. No, there were not.
They were just people who summoned fire and danced in its heat,
and we burned them for it.
That is what we did to exchange holiness, hate.
All I have are ghosts now.
They are heavy, my sins, their faces, their eyes, screams.
I believe that this is the Lord,
teaching me that I cannot,
no matter how many times I wash my hands,
no matter how many times I get drunk and lose myself,
I will always wake up in the rusted armor of a knight
who buried those I never understood.
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Thank you for your support, I look froward to see what March brings.