Celestial

A star doesn't need validation from others in order to shine,

and neither do you, my dear.

Neither do you.

(b.m.)

Closed Windows

I'm 10.

It's a warm summer's day. So much brightness. 

I'm riding in the back seat of the car as mom and dad

happily hum to whatever's playing on the radio, 

with my brother next to me excitedly yelling at his 

Nintendo DS, dramatically waving his fists to the sky

in frustration. The windows are all rolled down,

filling the car with the smell of freshly cut grass.

My eyes are closed, head leaned to the side, letting

the warmth of the sun kiss my face while the

gentle breeze caresses it. I let my arm hang out of

the window, my hand floating in the air like a surfer 

on calm waters.

Peaceful. 

I'm 22.

It's an overcast summer's day. So much humidity.

I'm riding in the passenger seat of the car as my mom

drives in silence, apart from the humming of the air

conditioning. She has a headache. My brother is in the

back seat, body hunched over, face buried in his phone.

Mindlessly scrolling. The windows are all up, and all I

can smell is the stench of a road-killed skunk seeping

through the vents. My tired eyes fight to stay open as my

head slumps back onto the headrest. Dark shaded

glasses conceal my face. Hands restlessly fidgeting

in my lap.

Anxious.

And I was so quick to grow up.

(b.m.)

Fly Flying

I was watching a fly flying,

Listening to its buzzing buzz.

How quaint I thought this little fly,

How loudly I heard it buzzing by.

Wishing this fly would fly away.

Wishing this day would die away.

Suddenly the fly stopped flying,

And the buzz stopped buzzing.

I looked up and down,

I looked all around.

Until I noticed a peculiar plant,

Planted on the table’s top.

In this plant the fly was trying,

Trying, but failing at flying. 

Lured, it was, by a sticky fuzz,

And never again will it loudly buzz.

How silly I thought this little fly,

How sad I felt to say goodbye.

I wished that this fly would fly away,

And that this day would die away.

But now the fly is dying away, 

 And the day's no sooner flying away.

Now, like the fly, my thoughts too decay.

Now I’m wishing a fly would fly my way.

(b.m.)

Shadowed Identity

How did I get here, 

in this place so void of hope and joy? 

What once was light is now dark 

and all I can see is pain as stark as the stars 

in the night's sky. 

The fatigue plaguing my bones is what this illness does, 

making everything feel like this hazy fuzz and

I'm nothing but a shadow of what I once

was.

The magic blue pills that my doctor prescribed 

are supposed to help with this pain I've described

but it's hard to fix what's buried so very deep 

inside.

So please, try to understand that when you tell me

"it's all in your head" as if that's the answer to 

all of this dread, that I want nothing more

than to be dead because I would be rich if I got a

penny for every time I have ever heard that said.

(b.m.)

Riptide

It's something o'clock in the morning on

someday of the week. The softest light is 

peeking through the window, having just started to

stretch its rays and touch the earth.

The birds haven't quite woken from their slumbers just yet,

apart from a few lazily singing out their morning tune,

sounding as if they're saying "just five more minutes."

The only other sound is the rhythmic breathing of

someone in a deliciously peaceful sleep lying next to me,

buried in a sea of my soft white comforter.

The light has now started to stretch its fingers across the bed,

tenderly caressing her face and illuminating a

treasure trove of beauty. No sunrise in the world could

convince me of a more breathtaking view than 

the one here in my bed. 

Laying on my side so we're face-to-face,

I reach my hand out to gently touch her cheek,

enamored by the soft rosy hue and 

carefully arranged freckles.

Then, with a deep, life-giving breath in through her nose,

the most heavenly smile appeared beneath my fingers.

First one, then two, sleepy eyelids slowly lifted

to reveal oceans of blue whose rip currents

pulled me in with the promise of never longing for land

again.

And I surrendered to it. Completely.

(b.m.)

Unbreakable

You surveyed my body like you were
window shopping, deciding if what you saw
was appealing enough to come inside.
Thinking you could provide what I needed
supplied just by looking on the outside?

No.

Your mistake was confusing my glass exterior
with me being inferior and thinking you
could ever be superior.

There have been others that thought they
could break me too. Thought they could
shatter me with a brick and rob me of
everything I have.

How cute.

I've withstood the strongest of storms and
have yet to crack, because I 
am fucking bulletproof, and you are about
as dangerous as a water gun.

So let me be transparently clear:

You. Don't. Have. A. Chance.
So do us all a favor, and keep your
dick in your pants.

(b.m.)

Nature's Bounty

Does a river stop rushing in fear of
being too loud?
Does a tree hide its leaves in fear of
taking up too much space?
Does the sun dim its brightness in fear of
being too noticeable?
Does the ocean hold back its waves in fear of
disturbing the shore?

Do they?

Should you?

(b.m.)

Series: Ticking Clock

#1

tick
tick

Mind racing.
Feet pacing.

    tick
    tick

Hands shaking.
Heart aching.

tick
tick

Sleep delaying.
Thoughts decaying.

    tick
    tick

Mouth pleading.
Skin bleeding.

tick


tick




tick.

(b.m.)


#2

I got a splinter in my hand yesterday,
Still, the clock ticked.
Things didn't go as planned yesterday,
Still, the clock ticked.

I forgot to take my meds today,
Still, the clock ticks.
The loneliness spreads today,
Still, the clock ticks.

I'll breathe my last breath someday,
Still, the clock will tick.
We'll all meet with death someday,
Still, the clock will tick.

and tick. and tick.

(b.m.)


#3

The clock ticks 86,400 times per day.
It's been two years since you left without saying
goodbye,
and not one tick has brought me closer to feeling
whole again.

(b.m.)