so anywaythe other day i was thinking about how i was trained to always apologizeto always feel sorry for who i am and what i’ve doneand how that created a lifetime of shamelikeeverything i do is wrongbutit’s just not truei meanhonestlyi know that i’m not perfect and that plenty of what i do is messed…
Author: Clio
97%
thoughts and prayersat the end of a steel barreldo not stop the deathhurtling forth thoughts and prayerskeep falling on the deaf earsof children cut downlike weedsinconveniences in the way of the liberty to own machines of death thoughts and prayersare not what will stopthe next one orthe next one orthe next one we need to…
cocoon
left outlocked outdown below the waterlinefloating in stasisnot drowningbut not breathing embraced by the filigreethe layers of dishonestycocooned in the safetyof my self-victimizationnot cryingbut not laughing simply herebetween the sharp edges of realityand the freedom of the dream can i be so subtleand still claw my wayabove the surface?and do i really want to? (i’m…
solemnity
at the end of sorrowat the end of ragethere is a quieta pausea simmering peacethat resolves into joy i do not want ecstasyi even struggle with spelling iti do not want deliriumor heavenly bliss i just seek the joythat resides in the softnessof that momenton the other side of darkness it is the peacein a…
what’s wrong?
what’s wrong?is my least favorite questionbecausesometimes i don’t know the answer i didn’t know what a meltdown waseven though i had them all the timeand so i trained myself to make something upto find the fracture that caused the collapseto explain the implosion and the sadness public sadness is an obligationit’s an obligation to stay…
redundant
it’s hard to keep upwith what i’ve already saidit’s hard to look backto make sure i’m not sayingwhat i’ve already said it feels like i keep saying the same thingscreaming at the same walltugging at the same stringsinside my memories is there a goalis there an endif i tear down the bricksto find the me…
three scoops
somewhere near my 13th birthdayi was in an ice cream shop in an underground mall in torontothat was attached to a subway station in a way that i didn’t understand at the timeand they were offering one, two, or three scoopsin a cup or a cone i asked for three scoops in a coneand they…
04.15.23
Q. How far can you go into a forest? A. Halfway. Then you’re coming back out of it. I recognize this ennui. When I take on a fixed-length project, like “write every day for a month” (which is what I’m doing right now), I find myself questioning whether there’s any point to what I’m doing….
glasspeople
somewhere deepwithin the labyrinth where the glasspeoplehad found themselveslost in betweenthe there and the here i sat a whileon a molded vinyl chairand listened to their murmurings i could not speaki had lost my voicealthough the words swelled uppuffed uppressed against my chest i had so many things to sayi had so many thoughts to…
whisper
i had words beforebut i convinced myselfthat they were pointlessand so they wandered offand found another placeto play 04.14.23