To come home today and hear your assertion that there will be no
Thanksgiving was like hearing, “There is no God.”

I pushed through to remember a conversation I had once where I responded to the questions of those who were passing through a time of grief.

I don’t know why this memory is strong. But it is a memory of people’s incessant questions to me…and to them I respond:

You ask me why…
And I say, “Just because I wanted to try to live.”
The ache and the pain I felt to the tips of my fingers and toes.
My throat was tight, my heart and chest hurt.

But I wanted to try.
So many years I felt dead.
There was no end to the sameness of existence. Years passed
Where I spent my time staring at beauty and not living in beauty.

Masks in museums were me.
And so I found hope in the little things of life, the small lives of
Other beings and insects.

I spared lives of ants for illogical reasons. I could not see “me” anymore.
I was murky; fully enveloped in the fog of grief.
But, oh, I wanted to still live, to breathe, to experience

The life I once thought I had.

Once, the sun shined for me.
And you came, too.

You lifted me from the past
But imprisoned me in the future.
And so I exist, trying to please, trying to do the right thing…
All because I want to try and live.

Is it fair?

I feel sometimes that I must escape my skin.
And I wish I could walk around as vessels and bones,
So that people could truly see the inner part.

There is beauty in blood. There is light in it.
The tendrils of vessels pulse with it.
There is life in blood. As long as
I am moving, I am alive.

And as long as I am alive,
I will do my best to stay that way.

For what use is happiness,
Without someone to share it?
I don’t think it even exists.
And you wait, sidelined by travel
And focused only on one part of me.

While my soul hopes and waits for more.
If I write this down, maybe my life will count.
Maybe it won’t.

I’m trying….I’m trying to live!

Once, I had the hope of a family.
How unimpressed I was by love!
How easily it came to me!

I turned away from Love,
Because it was so easy to get it.
I loved myself more than others,
And now, I love nothing of me.

Sometimes, the only saving grace is
The music in my soul.
It is inescapable. This is the blood of me.


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