an open letter to my own.

Dear little mama, I wish you could comprehend how much I want only joy for you. I wish you understood that it hurts me, or us, or them, to watch you cry. There’s a time for everything, but the ratio for those things doesn’t have to be equal, does it? Dear little mama, I hope you know that you’re not the only one hurting. Maybe that will only hurt you even more, to know that other ache with your sorrow, but please learn to take comfort in the fact that you are not alone. Those who notice your habits are only going to attempt to help you (however misguided their attempts may end).

The way you smile through puffy eyes and furrow your expression just enough for me to catch onto your thoughts? These don’t slide past. You think about her, and when I’m paying attention, I can tell. You hang on to every little snippet of her life, like a lifeline. Little mama, you think about her, and the pain that manifests on your face is unlike anything else. That is the worst of the pain you bear currently, I think – the loss of a child.

Dear little mama, do you think we do not notice the little, subtle stress lines that crease your forehead whenever you talk about your marriage? do you think we ignore the slightly-too-loud laughs of Currently Socializing mode, and the slightly-too-quiet sobs of Broken mode? You’re heard by the people who don’t matter, who can’t make a difference – now to speak up to those who can.

Dear little mama, you’ve lost your father, but not your Father.

You’re probably thinking about how I should never shoulder any of this, never feel like I need to worry about you. You’re probably considering all the ways that you can reassure me that you’re fine, that you’re healing. You’re probably thinking about the fact that maybe this worry was your fault.

in tandem

where was the contest? there was just shame
in losing already, before the game
we were two different pages, torn apart
we lost it all before the start
please believe me, i was just fine
but i could see clearly that you straddled borderline
between the safe and the undefined

and still i wonder
what happened to us?
still i dream of
a life that is enough
the fragile ‘why’s of bitter souls
knock us down over and again
do you recall when we took life
into our own two broken hands?
and still they ache for times long missed

spiral is the perfect word
for things you did that went unheard
we were two different people, broken-but-not-bent
mourning a life wasted before spent
please believe me when i say that i’m okay
(i just couldn’t save you)

and still i wonder
what happened to us?
still i dream of
being as tough as you
the fragile whys of bitter souls
pick us up over and again
do you recall when we took death
into our own two barren hands?
and still they ache for times long missed
oh, if we’d only known
how fragile we are
would we have changed anything?

bleak

have you ever gone through an hour, or maybe a day, or a week, where it felt like you were living out a video? everything is a hollow allegory for something held dear. time is fluid, you are fluid. you survive, but you do not live.
echoes of ‘real’ life? well, this is real life. this is the reality you face every day. it’s like you’re living in a dream except that you can read the license plate of the car in front of you as you drive to work, or school, or just back home. you feel each meaningless breath rack your body, but you don’t breathe. ‘going through the motions’ is a way of life now. ‘fine’ is a perpetual state of being.
and what’s better, this, or emotion that sucks away the things you see but don’t focus on, the things you hear but don’t register? always ringing in your ears, or maybe a buzzing – it distracts you, until you’re not paying attention and someone else pays the cost.

have you ever experienced this?
i ask, because i can no longer breathe.