Carnal Caretaker

I’ve always had a carnal appetite

The indulgent kind

Of molten lava

Cake and irrationally strong

Protection.

My inside often

Volley with volatile vexation

To emancipate the masculinity

Of this savagery.

Relating more to the simple

Set of stress induced

Recession

Found more commonly

In animals,

Deference  clings to their boundaries

but wonder if  a more careful

caretaker could have calmed the

cautiously unkempt being.

Development followed drunken

Murmurings, sickly sweet in singles

And festering fury in folds.

Natural than

The quick slam of a door

With automatic hinges,

The variety of which

Accidentally startles,

And secludes.

Overwhelming femininity

Bursts occassionally,

Not trained to pertain

Then

To reason.

This appetite never remembers

When it is quenched,

For memory holds long

Onto scarcity

With teeth.

 

Death on your Tongue

I’ve been thinking about death

A lot

Lately

The aftertaste

And the slippery sensation

Of a life through fingers

Whats claimed

in an ending.

Its profound

But its not.

Simple equations

Of action

and reaction

Care taken

and odds managed,

What was the feeling of you?

Thats what I think

about most

Of all

A selfish kind of

desire

To be

that

person

Who is

missed

Who lived

big

Through small ways

An energy

That continues

to vibrate

In the people you

Shared air with

Once

Or more than

Once.

Instead of just

fading

Out.

Meaningless.

Its selfish.

And yet,

Its shaping a quieter

Formation

Of space

Inside my every

interaction.

I bring death with me

Like a box of sweet mints

A way to cope

With the souring of

What I have to

Swallow

Before I get there.

Intimate failures

Most people think
Self righteousness keeps me company
In the cold.
But they don’t understand how bitter it tastes, like the sourness of anxiety and forebode.
It is believed I have swallowed these pills from the hands of strangers,
But how strange it is to recognize intimately the hands they actually come from.
They cannot be swallowed with anything but cold,
Nor do they move through my system swiftly.
Isolationist propaganda is hung from the support beams,
And the quiet reveals only the echo chamber.
Thoughts clammering for acceptance in a way that is not possible,
Solutions begging for urgency that is not feasible.
Tensions brewing in a way that is not reversible, but perhaps transformative.
A faint outline draws on the tenancity of strength and softness.
How to bend with breaking, even when delicacy sounds every alarm.
And is forgiveness possible if only through the breath in the lungs it reverbates first?
Terrible, giant, uncomfortable necessary
Thoughts.
Being an old soul and understanding how to manifest its existence..
Always a test worth failing.
Because thats how you learn you can’t succeed.
Its not the sort of thing you can ever win.
Better is the best score.

Dear Mom,

I wonder when was the last time that someone said to you outloud “I love you”, and that you truly believed it?

I’m not sure what your definition of love is, because I know that it differs from mine. I was able to understand what the words trust, loyalty, and unconditional meant only after several years of defining them for myself. I had to pry them out of the hands of the dark things like struggle, grief, betrayal, and lonliness.

If you were like me once, than I understand why you feel the need to medicate with alcohol. I have never indulged in its effects, but from what I understand, it helps to numb out all of the overwhelming thoughts and feelings. And to be quite frank, there are days, and especially nights when I wish to do that myself. I wish that I could escape.

Its not all about escape, I know, Mom. Especially not for you. Part of the reason I had to pull away from you was because of how the demons would let loose when you drank. Even through the phone lines, they would settle their weight on my heart and my shoulders.

..I was too young then, to comprehend holding up under my own weight, much less bear yours, or anyone else for that matter.

I’m writing to let you know I never left you in anything but love. I just needed to figure out how to love myself first. I would have sunken my own ship if I had remained tethered.

So I left you, I left everything and everyone I had in New York. And it took me years still to understand that I could love myself, and still never leave behind those pieces of myself. I still miss you, and wish things were different.

I still hope that they will be different, someday. Even though I understand now how heavy and solidly swing the hands of time. How hard it is to change. And how we can only do our best to keep going.

With love,

Karalee

Routinely Out of Order

When I put one foot in front of the other

And end up tripping myself

I laugh through the stumble

Not believing I could purposefully do

such a thing.

But when I leave five minutes

After I should have,

Everytime,

All the time,

I drive white knuckled and swear,

Upset at anyone who delays me.

When I stare at a pile of clothes,

An unkempt mixture of laundered and worn,

I dread how I will have to carve

Out

a big chunk

of time to fix it,

But tuck the morsels of not doing it

Right then and there,

into my “Im too busy”s,

As they catch up on Netflix.

Oh yes, I always envied the houses

Where drawers had one purpose,

Someone calling out to you

“It should be in there!”

Knowing it would be,

Whilst I prayed in my own house

“It Should be in there!

(Please be in there.

Please. Its gotta be right in there. I swear I put it there. Where else would I have put it?)”

Yes, life has handed me chaos,

But I’m the one paying her decoratoring

Expenses.

I should probably look into doing something

about that.

Next week.

 

 

A Witness to Defeat

She says

“You seem defeated lately.”

And primarily,

the only response to offer

Is a lift of the chin,

feeling caught.

 

Quietly..

“What?”

A placeholder,

Time to chew,

Surprise.

 

Again,

 

“ You seem defeated lately.”

Eyes are gentle around the edges.

Calm.

 

Weight shifts back

in reflection

Blood pauses at hips

In contemplation;

And thats when

 

Struggle meets realization:

Steps out of the dark

Mornings

it has wanted to

Lay in forever.

 

Begins to fold

The unwashed laundry

On the bed.

Tries to tidy the creases.

And realizes,

 

It has

been seen.  

 

My Fuck You’s sound a lot like Have a Great Times

When you’ve dug yourself deep

In the wounds of my mind.

 

You see, I’m no good at Monopoly,

Chess is where I excel,

And if you refuse to show vulnerability,

Then you lose mine as well.