Marionette

water raging against rocks: molecule against molecule like skin against skin,
my mother clawing at my father,
erosion creates the shore. corporal sand

i’m curious/“what is that in your hands?” is it the tides?
the water is a spray chisel to sculpt my glass figure,
throw it in the kiln/“what are you imagining?” why are you taking so long?

some days you force me to forget the pain of who i’ve loved,
other days you force me to remember the faces i hate,
most days i can’t tell what you want from me.

do you just like thinking about the past? is it so bad that i want to move on?
no, remember that as an adult you’ve forgiven the person you’ve hated the most.
remember so that the next time you look into her eyes, you know to hold your breath. don’t drown.

the current rages against the bed, deep and wide i’m so sorry i touched you.
there’s a beautiful glassy rock now in the deepest depths of the ocean next to the earth’s core waiting to be discovered,
the sea carries out the spirit, and i finally float.

from innocence, glass beneath the surface of the sea,
the waves flow like dance,
to tides, you’re free to behave as you wish

a mask made of sand reveals the shape of my body,
water rock and sand belong to the guiding hand holding the strings,
i am a marionette carved by the currents,
pulled by unseen forces, my movements not my own.

i was in the hospital with my future self as a roommate, he scared me so bad because i thought i’d never heal.
i gave up on myself like i always do,
it matters not to you. i’m my future self looking into the past, and i’ll say nothing because there is nothing for you to hear,

there’s a storm behind your eyes,
just make it to the center,
and what belongs to you will find you.

and you let me heal by taking everything away like every time before.
i am not myself when i’m not alone,
every fracture of my mind makes me stronger,
every tear in my soul makes me stronger,

you always put me back together

n the forest of memory,
where time weaves its tapestry,
A sapling once stood—its roots seeking eternity.
Its leaves whispered secrets to the wind,
a fragile plea,
As it stretched toward the sun, yearning to be free.

Life’s storms battered its tender bark,
yet it stood firm,
Each scar a testament to resilience,
a lesson learned.

In the quiet dark of night,
Across a lonely track,
Shadows stretch like memories,
and the moon scowls back.
My heart, a heavy burden,
Carrying the weight of loss,

weeping willow,
there’s much to be erased,
but who am i to cry,
when i’ve never felt your skin,
i’ve never seen your face

reminded of your voice today.
a melody, a feeling, a sound,
i’m older now than you’ll ever be.
tension trapped tugging tautology
walking on a tightrope.

i brought a gift to the party,
i laughed, i danced, i partook,
i gave them my smiles and time,
and in return i asked for peace,

i left the party,
i sighed, i knelt, and i partook.
i gave you my smoldering glare,
gazing through molasses gates,
open once again for peace.

this is the prelude,
i only feel true when im alone,
i never feel comfortable when i’m not in bed,
only i know the sound of my voice,
only i know the peace of my head.

Oh, my friend, what is it that you see?
I am to whom you’ve longed,
Are you not you proud of me?
I am who the one you’ve wronged,

Where you see darkness, oh, I see well,
Where you see stress, oh, a story to tell,
Can’t you see, oh how I love you?
Only for you, oh I’ve manifested true,

Your wishes mine to grant,
Your sorries mine to subside,
Your life mine to take,
Your desires mine to abide,

All yours to hold,
All yours to covet,
Your life you live,
It’s time you love it.

To the Unsealed,

Since I was young my family had always moved a lot,
Close or far, just forward, forward, forward,
Always somewhere to go; never somewhere to be,

When I think of childhood, I think of spending summers with friends outside in the grassy fields of Germany,
Exploring cities and admiring buildings older my country, just enjoying the sun for the time it was out,
For the longest time I projected images of the world in my head onto others,
As if I had to force things through the filter of my eyes for them to make sense,
Many experiences brought me into sentience in a way I’ve seen others take for granted,
And I question if I trust myself to say “I know”.

The most recent time my family moved I didn’t follow. For a variety of reasons I decided it was best that I stay, so I planted my feet in Maryland.

As an adult I occasionally reconnect with acquaintances from high school,
I remember listening to their conversations and feeling envious of the way they talk,
The way they are with each other,
All so familiar- to what I had in Germany,

Envy begat curiosity, so I asked how their friendships started. They replied almost confused that I’d even ask that, stating that they’ve “always known each other.” Their parents are friends.
Their home is a family home.

My amorphous feelings took shape in the articulation of my thoughts,
I was able to connect and recognize how little i knew about my own experiences.
I wish I had lifelong friends,
I wish I had a family house,
I wish I had generations of collective experience to fill the spiritual void in my being,
I wish I could’ve known someone my whole life.

I saw it. I understood it. I couldn’t empathize,
All I could do was laugh at the dramatic irony, the things people will take away from life when they don’t share their thoughts with others.

They thought the most interesting about me was that I’ve not spent my life in one place. They expressed their anxieties about living up to their family’s expectations, and being responsible for maintaining the family house well enough to pass it on. They felt suffocated by the looming presence of their families, always fearing that they would “become” their parents.

What I found funny was being told that they kept inviting me to hangout with them because they enjoy the process of getting to know people, and think it’s sometimes more fun than just speaking to someone you already know.

Moving to where I currently am has made my life better because it’s made me more me. Another chapter in the book of my life. I can’t always empathize with other people’s experiences, nor can they with mine, but the ability to share our differing experiences makes you grateful for everything word in your story. Connecting with other people makes life better. Bittersweet and honest.

Ideas of beauty and vision of self to come,
Time the chisel that shapes the memory,
Like water raging callously against the river bank.

Looking at a picture of George Washington in a history book and seeing faceless distortion,
Looking up at billboards and watching the the corrupt facsimile of mocking frown where a smile should be,
Listening to songs of those you’ve outlived telling you they’ll live forever,
Looking into the still image in the mirror in search of clairvoyance,
Discovering the ugly, cruel, formless, homunculus reaches for my face as i recoil aghast,
Feeding tomorrow’s insecurities,
I’m older now than you’ll ever be,
The everlasting present,

One day you’ll just wake up,
Without reason, without effort, without conscious, without yourself.
Nature’s hand turns the page,
She comforts you as you take your first breath,
To take care of you now is to take care of her in the future,
The everlasting present,

Despite having nothing to my name but my name,
All I can do is say thank you to today for promising me tomorrow.

To the Unsealed,

I know how it feels to fall out of love.
I used to consider myself a musician,
I used to consider myself a writer,
I used to consider myself a filmmaker,
I used to consider myself an artist.

Upon reflection on the person, I thought I used to be,
I looked in the mirror in awe of all that hasn’t changed,
Years past, months forgotten, days gone, yet I remain,
If am that I am when I am forlorn, I must be what I am when I am exultant,
Depressed, Euphoric, Despondent, Ecstatic, Destitute, Elated,
I am what I am when I am.

I know how it feels to fall in love.
I consider myself a musician,
I consider myself a writer,
I consider myself a model,
I consider myself an artist.

How could I give up the things that created me?
How could I no longer be what I’ve already been?
I’ve let hopelessness in once before,
I’ve felt defeated and longed for more,
Yet I find what belongs to me still in me,
Waiting to belong to me once more.

I nearly gave up on life when I was diagnosed with Bipolar,
I found new life in the understanding that it is not all that makes me,
I’m beautiful,
I’m generous,
I’m loving,
I’m humble,
I’m an artist,
I will continue to be that when I feel like I am something else,

It’s okay to love,
It’s okay to not love,
The fact that it may not last forever makes me that much more grateful when I have it again,
I am all that I am when I feel I am not.

“Everything stays, but it still changes” – Rebecca Sugar