Tea is my consolation,
From anxiety and fears that strike
Like venomous slithering snakes,
Who have missions to poison my resolve.

The most recent attack occurred,
During the late evening,
With their voices in my head shrieking and lashing,
Their troublesome words coiling around my air supply.

I dashed to the cupboard panicked,
To ensue Tea’s warm embrace,
And waited for the kettle to boil,
While tears trickled wordlessly down my face.

Tea greeted me warmly that night,
With a pleasant aroma of spices swirling up my nose,
And became the only thing I wanted;
A comforting liquid cascading down my throat.

I drank my blend of love in silence,
While my protector drew its steadfast sword,
And lashed those demons and the sorrows,
Into the dismal despair from whence they came.

Not long after the battle,
My silent friend with the warmth of a thousand suns crooned,
And watched as I fell soundlessly asleep,
Until the renewal of the afternoon.

God, if you only knew the things these eyes have seen. I feel as if I’m the only one to have felt this heaviness in my soul. It breaks me down. I’m scavenging for survival. For hope, for humanity. I wait patiently in the dark hoping to watch as the light breaks through this darkness I live in. Will the sun rise? Will the moon give in to its brutal blows? Or will I be left again, left wondering where I’m meant to travel to next. I watched my family torn from the places once called sacred. The treasures they held once before meant nothing, their lives were the only treasure they had left. The only treasure I had left. Some tore their way out of that hell. The mental affliction that caused them to drown in their own murderous screams. They moved on with their quest for a purpose, ripping away the flaws and scars left by the pain experienced. Becoming something new, remade. Still beautiful, they didn’t break. They persevered. I watched as others tied the fear and pain to their ankles, always dragging it with them. Others would notice the chains they pulled, but never say a word. Never reach out a hand to search for the key to these aches. Just watching them survive, I watch them survive. I survive. But the worst of all to watch was The Interpreter. The ones who fell for the lies that got them with me in this black hole. The ones who never coped, never wanted a purpose, they wanted revenge. Revenge on the ones who tore their soul apart, piece by piece. The ones who took every bit of sanity they had and laughed as it fell unreachable by any man. I watched as something once so beautiful, miraculous, pure and true turn into something that made me want to cringe. So hungry. Always remembering the starvation they suffered from and using it as a crutch and weapon to fill the hole that cannot be filled by things as such. I try to help but they snarl in defense, forgetting that once I was their friend. Only thinking of the world as an enemy, and everyone in it an enemy as well. I try to stop them, plead for them to stay, just to here a few words. Just to know that they aren’t alone, I’m here in the darkness too.

a plump girl in a flea market

barefoot

barefoot as

the jesus doll

left

in her father’s

car

a car so yellow

it hurts one to be

inside the car

-

some lady turned up her nose by pressing it to that screen door
your kid seems okay
licking

-  

this my face and this my totem face-

make neither
too long

-

hope is a rabbit’s foot

secretly

the lord’s

slipper

after leaving
my mother’s
double
my father
came home
twice

once
with me
as an infant
and once
with a pair
of shoes

that my brother
on my mother’s
side
filled-

at the time
my brother    
was older
than me
than regret’s

bright future

notes on the boy

his sickness is a hotel.  

his health
the failing eyesight
of his father
     the soon to be famous
window washer.

his dream
a documentary
on falling.

     some watch
the room they were in
from the room
they are.