Half-life

Here’s one of the three new poems I read at last night’s thrilLITERATE reading.  The video of my reading it is at the bottom.

Half-life

When they say a heart breaks,
they speak as if it breaks once:

a glass,

floating in slow motion,

pulled down by the fingers of gravity.

Shards scatter,

run away on little feet, like repellent magnets.
And as the last screams die,
so begins the gluing back of parts.

But my heart is a half-life heart:

decaying and dividing again, and again.
It folds onto itself, like a supernova.

At every corner, lurks a ghost or demon,
snickering to themselves,
ready with daggers to slit the rubble upon glance.

Every time Shakira’s voice sounds out like a siren’s,
it easily undoes the sutures until I’m a leaky roof.
O cada vez oigo la lengua, pierdo la mia
y las palabras solia hablar, amargo en mi boca.

Walking in hallways becomes an inkblot test:

How many faces look like his?
Why must you turn and walk to a corner, gasping for oxygen at the sight of a stranger?

When I see a red sweater in the crowd,
or an imposter with the same wig,
the effect is the same:

following the earthquake, it’s all aftershocks–
from the epicentre of my chest, trembling me,
knocking me down time and time again when I’ve barely risen to my flesh-ripped knees.

I can never see the aquarium the same way without drowning a little.
Looking at a husky rewards me with enduring another paper-cut.

Can you blame me for always drinking from the half-empty cup?

You would rather be with someone halfway around the world,
giving you filtered, sour placebos by the teaspoons,
than I, fully here,
I, pouring out the purest of me in gallons,
I, whose tears dot the page like bullet holes,
I, who has pored over the pages of our histories,
devising stratagems and formulae from words,
mixing compounds and chemicals, needs and wants.
I, who have been a scientist,
not just searching for the cure to my half-life heart,
but to earn yours back.
I, losing the bold experiment to cold fact,
that you no longer desire dusty, expired goods,
while my heart continues to tick away.

I wish I could take back half the times I said, “I love you”,
so the other half shone brighter in your eyes and ears.

When they say a heart breaks,
they speak as if it breaks once.

Remember when I joked that you had no heart?

Well, the joke’s on me.

I love thrilLITERATE

Although I’ve only read poetry in public a grand total of three times, I’ve forgotten what a great, cathartic experience it can be.  Before going to thrilLITERATE tonight, I was pretty nervous, so much so that I found it difficult to have dinner (even though it was brimming with what I assumed to be delicious MSG).  When I got to the Rhizome Cafe, though, I felt fine.  I knew the worst thing that would happen would be that my mouth would dry up when I read– as if always annoyingly does– but other than that, it really was simple.

Thanks so much to Amber Dawn to always being so supportive.  I know I am very clumsy, inarticulate, and probably have some condition that renders me inept at talking to people (but not writing about/to them), but I really do owe her for constantly getting me involved in the community and inspired to do so many wonderful things.  It may seem like an easy thing to do, to be supportive, but I never feel like she is just saying things, the way some friends do.  She is genuinely supportive, and coming from an atmosphere and culture that doesn’t support artist endeavours, it truly means a lot.  She keeps me going in and pursuing what I love in ways she probably doesn’t even know.  I’ll write more about her sometime.

I know I only attended twice ever, but I love you, thrilLITERATE!

In the Mind of a Wise Idiot

While in the New Shoots Creative Writing program in high school, I think we were supposed to write something performance-y or at least something that our mentor, whose name I have forgotten… no!  Ben!  Yes!  Ben was supposed to look over and give comments.  I went through a phase in high school where I thought that writing the most random things that came to mind equalled great poetry.  How very, very wrong I was.

This initally consisted of 3 pages, both sides, of the most random things I could think of.  Some were inspired by what was around me, mainly Math class.  Of these three pages, I then took passages from all three and condensed them into one prose/poem thing.  There’s no story, so it’s not really prose but it’s not structured like a poem (then again, free verse = anything).  I remember thinking this was the most brilliant thing I had written.  How Ben was able to read and make any sort of sense of this is beyond me.

In the Mind of a Wise Idiot

 

“Not at all”, he said to me as I wondered what it would be like to finally taste the sweetness of his lips.  Don’t tell me I’m dreaming again, I think to myself.  Well, how can I be dreaming if I can think?  Maybe it’s that even the first time I saw him that it changed everything for me.  The randomness of school makes it impossible for me to do anything.  At all.  At all, at all.  Somehow, I find myself wondering about him all…yes, all!  The times are changing; perhaps I will feel different tomorrow.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  Perhaps he will finally notice me…

 

Why am I so scared anyways?  It doesn’t make sense, well…we’re all scared of something, especially the truth; it blinds us, it tortures us, it shows us things we’re hiding from All!  this time.  And yet we can’t seem to accept it!  It is like we want another reason, but we are given the reason; we just refuse to believe it.  How stupid of us, all of us.  Why are we all! so stupid?  It doesn’t make sense.  Then again, nothing ever makes sense.  It probably never will.  We will all! continue to blind ourselves from the truth that we refuse to believe.  I don’t understand.  And I probably never will.

 

I wonder if I should do anything about it.  About what?  There’s nothing to do and nothing anyone can do.  Well, except for both of him.  Perhaps he’s scared.  Perhaps he doesn’t know if I am or not.  Perhaps he himself isn’t.  Perhaps this, perhaps that.  Only time will.  Tell me what you think.  Make sense of ALL!  Look, there he is again.  I think he was looking at me. But I didn’t look back.  Should I have?  Who cares anyways?  But it’s not impossible right?  I don’t know what to think anymore.  Should I keep chasing after him, or in that case, anyone if I don’t get high?  Hmm…maybe.  Maybe not.  Maybe I should stop.  Stop.  Stop.  Stop, yes…that sounds quite right.  Hmm…everything seems so wrong.  What is right?  What does it mean?  The brightness of his shirt is overwhelming.  Who is this?  Who are you?  Who is everyone?  Who is anyone?  How do we know who we are if nothing is right? Math is stupid and endearing ’till eternity.

Nothing can escape a black hole; its black, black, black heart swallows all.  This reminds me of when I thought about not breathing ever again before.  Nope, not fun at all.  Why don’t everyone just shut up?  Please, shut up!  Get out now, you stupid opossum!  And stay out!  Don’t forget to shut up!  It makes no SENSE!  Yes, that’s what we all need; some sense.  How can I make sense of sense if I can’t sense it?  Hmm…perhaps my binder holds answers.  I don’t know anything. “Funner” is not a word, you stupid hoe.  I really should just stop because I’m not making any sense…yes, that word again!  I’m confusing myself.  What should I do?  If today is gone, would we be on February 14th?  Quite strange really, but maybe…maybe not.

I wonder if people wonder.  I wonder if people wonder about the same things as I do.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  Perhaps they are normal.  Perhaps, no one is normal.  Perhaps we are all queer and I’m normal.  Perhaps my people are the normal ones.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  That seems to make so much more sense…there’s that word again.  No!  My god!  Your god sucks!!!  Math sucks.  Here sucks.  Do I suck?  I don’t know but probably.  Imagine all the people, living in hell.  That I can do.  Hmm…cards can be fun if you’re a hobo.  The pink fluffy bunnies will continue to hop until their legs fall off.  Alive, then dead.  I wonder about him and the future.  Perhaps it will all! change.  Perhaps, perhaps not.

Wow.  I am so obviously sane.