The Most

I am in love with the most beautiful person in the world
And you know it-- Not that I love you, but that
You are beautiful.
Alas ("woe is me" -how cliche...) the former remains the cross that I bare.
Damn you for stealing my heart. You seem to have
No use for it, yet now I can give it to no one else.
You have somewhat fucked me over--
And I still love you.
Fuck.

Hospital Scene

...And that’s where she stood, frozen in this moment of despair, reaching out for something so perfect as it was swept away on the gurney, down the cold, unforgiving halls of the hospital. The wheels made a terrible squeal as they spun faster and faster, carrying away the quiet kiss of her companion, who could only cry out to the heavens in loss and confusion as the words, “I’ll be right here,” echoed and drifted down the tile corridor.

In the still silence and apprehension of the waiting room, a thin layer of dust from all the worried souls who had treaded this wickedly anxious territory before, rose gracefully into the air, unfurling out of itself like smoke, curling and cascading all about in its graceful, vapory ascension. The warm sunlight breaking through the far window, so glorious it bordered on abrasive, spread its candid gleam throughout the room, illuminating the mockingly peaceful hues of baby blue, light sage, and steely violet that adorned every sofa, chair, and strip of wallpaper in sight. From the receptionist’s desk, she could hear the scrape and flap of paper on paper as the uncomfortably petite woman behind the computer flipped through celebrity gossip magazines, stopping occasionally to answer the phone, file ominous test results for futilely hopeful cancer victims, or return to her slow-pace game of online backgammon.

unfounded expectations are a reason to live and a reason to die

my name is arielle
and you are the only person who makes me cry.
the tambour of our history is written in my eyes.

the abandonment did not hurt
until i recognized the inequalities between our affections.
self-realization is a noble steed,
wounded at the cusp of its heroic manifestation of purpose:
a lost wave,
prematurely broken among a sea of wondrously vibrant currents.

cheers to my false stability,
and the invisible
carnivores will discuss the consequential and entirely unfounded envy.

Exchange

To remember her.
She was sweeping.
I was kind.

Through coffee I got to change—
And so did you.
Right there,
Right across the table.
I saw.

The first time I saw,
You looked like light blue or light gray. Clear.
Holding.
Reaching.
Like this seed or grain or anything that your hand drove up.

Yes,
I could pardon the little beads like
Pearls
You burn up.

Your mouth is still.

OF THE EARTH

Witness to our chosen divisions, so abrasive and unyielding though fluid and volatile as we abandon our homely connection. The existence binds us despite our conflictual tendencies like magnets fixed just within their spheres of force.

Will We Destroy The Earth Or Will It Destroy Us?

rain
cleanse
soap
base
bass
low

The earth that keeps me here intoxicates me with wonder and love and shackles me to the tenfold pains of fear and grief. I travel the planes, so vast and expansive and full of enigmatic promises that caress me so gently and betray me like a psychological landscape ruled by an illusive horizon.

here
the earth
will carry the remains
of lost souls,
trapped in their
past existences
and barred
from the fruitful promise
of tomorrow

The Precarious Progression of Knowledge

Tick tick tick.
This is our modern education.
Who, when, where, what are we doing here?
The teachers of old—
Wise elders, storytellers, the divine achievers of some degree of enlightenment, an outgrowth of their perspective and the understanding there of.
These teachers nourished a fragile mysticism of humanity,
A secret for those who talk about talking, think about thinking.
Through the ages we have so cleverly and ostentatiously classified,
These ambiguous purveyors of wisdom have
Managed to preserve this whisper of enlightenment, of understanding, of peace.

Now we suckle at the dawn of a new great paradox:
As our cache of knowledge grows in its efficiency and entirety,
Our traditional understanding, the quiet yet binding commandment passed down inherently through the generations,
Slips away.
The violent eruptions of mass struggle and success
Have left some lost individuals fumbling blindly for a chance at understanding,
Wandering through a chaotic modern world,
Like tattered outsiders fulfilling a legacy, trying to reach the horizon.

But this is not the end.
We may only be pawns, but we choose our own moves.
Winning does seem oppressively impossible.
However our potential chance at victory,
The blanket of peace that still begs to cradle us in its bosom,
Within the shell that will leave us bereft of our securities…
This promise will drive us to the glory of a brighter sanctuary
For generations to come…

Hopefully…

Nancy's Confrontation

Hard life, hard drugs, hard times,
Hard people.
One things leads to the next until I’m trapped.

That moment yesterday,
When you told me I was wearing armor—
When you told me I was afraid to be vulnerable—
When you told me I was lost—
How could you possibly know so little?
And yet so much…

I was looking into your uncomfortably brown eyes.
They were bright, warm, soft, understanding, penetrating.
Your majestic eyes are not as dark as mine,
Which are darker than most, nearly black--
Screaming insecurity,
Fear
Pain
Bewilderment
And, yes thank you, vulnerability.

Sometimes, when I look in the mirror
Deep into my own eyes,
My bones shake with apprehension, concern.
Some say eyes are the windows to one’s soul,
But this could not be true
Because I believe that my soul is genuine—
Seemingly tortured, perhaps, but gloriously dynamic and sometimes courageous.
And when I look into my own eyes, I see only a
Lost child, naïve, frightened, betrayed.

What did you see when you looked at me yesterday?
Did you see my weakness, my courage, both?
The vulnerability was something I had never seen in myself,
Though now it seems so obvious,
So obvious that at that instant it thrust me into a whirlwind of memories,
Images of myself in pristine moments of vulnerability:
Collapsing down upon my pile of laundry,
Pulling to the side of the road to catch my breath,
Falling to my knees behind the closed door of my dorm room,
Curling into the fetal position under my bed,
Beating my hands against the walls of the shower stall,
Uncontrollably crumbling into hysteria while my mind disintegrates,
Surrenders to the nightmares,
Until my armored, vulnerable, lost eyes run dry.

What powerful words could have driven me to such a lucid and painful daydream—
And continued to enslave my thoughts for hours after your departure.
I went back to my room and reflected upon my problems with
Drugs
Alcohol
Depression
Trust
Myself
My body
My parents
My friends
My direction (or lack there of)

And when I did not know what to think, I succumbed to my tears.
I broke down and cried.
Again.

I never used to cry until this past year—not at anything.
Now when I’m alone, I cry at unexpected times and, usually, uncontrollably.
But when I can cry no more and my sinuses are throbbing with
The weight of me being an internalizer,
I think of some very powerful words by Mary Anne Radmacher—
A quote the universe sent to me in a great time of need:

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, I will try again tomorrow.”

And I will…try.

Earthworms

This morning it rained for only about an hour.
Deep gray clouds rolled over the city,
Engulfing this quiet campus with light sprinkles of
Loss and rebirth,
Driving the meaningless earthworms from their
Warm sanctuaries within the dirt
To the cold and inevitable death sentence
Of the red brick pathways.

Now the skies are clear
Except for the puffy, white communities of moisture
Hovering in the distance
Behind the Ritchie Center,
Behind the highway, breathing with the hum of passing nobodies,
Behind the city, bustling with almost-weekend excitement.
And I sit here, huddled against the retaining wall of Sturm
Next to the pile of worms I kicked aside,
The poor, pathetic manifestations of life
That only hours ago were writhing in vulnerability,
Exiled from their protective womb in the earth
And greeted not with love, comfort and the promise of tomorrow,
But rather with a futile plea for life…
A plea to remain on a journey whose goal is
Nothing more than continued existence.
And I can’t help but think that
The only difference between us is their blessed ignorance
And my tortured awareness.
Their bliss and my pain.

Maybe…
It is time for me to leave.

Quixotic Rebirth

You open the door; I am instantly engaged.
Hiding behind my formalities, artificial as they may seem,
I fondle for my comfort zone,
A safe haven I can use as a crutch
As I wander into uncharted emotional territory.

Even your hair drives me into the madness of a passing fancy.
Short, black, clean, comforting.
So pungent, juxtaposed against your soft white skin,
A contrast that screams purity and new beginnings.
[Am I a born-again lover?]
The sincerity in your smile accentuates the kind sadness in your eyes.
Your boyish charm seems only to
Reflect the maturity of your identity.

To me, you are simply
So beautiful.