I am dancing with white horses 

I am dreaming of their closeness

I need their delicacy and burdens 

I let them in

inside they arose as wardens 

I became their enforcer 

one day amongst the darkness I will ride them 

we will swim and never age 

the lightness of their eyes incinerates 

and they will return sprinting and longing

I will go back like a cinder 

yearning and never belonging

the story is old I know but it goes on

I miss you so much that 20yrs cannot encompass the loss I feel/experience. I miss you so much that it can feel there are no proper words, analogies, or phrases to convey, that its trivial to even attempt but I continue because it would be unbearable otherwise. Your birthday is Monday. What does happy birthday really mean after death? I'm at a loss to articulate that but I feel that I cannot let that thought go unspoken. Though I know there's no way you could ever read this I am driven to write it because otherwise survival would be unbearable, unfathomable, too much of me would not be left in tact to keep going. Sometimes I feel that is all I do, I keep going, keep trotting, running, swimming keeping my head bobbing above the waves, that this is the purest form of existence. but I do not fully trust that statement on its own but I must say it. Its not without a cost living after death, choosing to live after death, I wish you had made a different choice but I know your choice wasn't a choice also. Everyday I make a choice to stay above ground and that is purely by willpower to not want to perish and paradoxically its purely luck given what my life and state of mind is in this present time. I wish you could have been afforded the same.

"Breaking like dolls singing like birds we always get what we deserve."

- Low,  In the Drugs

'just a perfect day I'm so glad I got to spend it with you', i take another bullet down this shade of veils and vials, but I wouldnt trade it for anything

my, how strange the times flies by, your embalmed and buried and I can still feel the seasons and the dialogues of skin piercing through me

sometimes I wonder what you would think of me now, I wonder what we would be talking about, I wonder if I will ever keep walking and one day you stop appearing in my mind when I look over and pretend that we are talking, I pretend I will see you soon, you are a cloud over my head and the planets colliding and the moon exploding and the sun bursting and it never meant anything if no one else remembers but what if I am the only one who remembers? i wonder if my star is meant to burn out and fall off the earth also.

this is a story to break hearts tenfold, twist the knife

  I think of all the daughters and fathers who have been spilt up and torn apart from one another through divorce, marriage, fear, or separation, wedlock, revenge or selfishness, and the supposed “best thing” for all involved. Physically separated, no forwarding addresses, forever off the ringer phones, no voices, or photographs and no one in the new circumstance to preserve a memory or an inkling of the person.

I wonder if I was lucky that I did not have to experience that trauma as a child or ironically, maybe I am not so lucky because what I had with my father as a child; that was all I was ever going to have.

There is no reunion, no reconciliation, no chasing second chances, no persisting or demands, or wrong numbers, failed understanding, passive-aggressive emails, cut off voicemails. There is no false hope that we will meet again.  

The best thing though is that I would have never had this kind of relationship with my father anyway we were always together and we were so close. In my brief time with him, I never once was left doubting his love and dedication to me. Our time was a lifetime in itself. Some have many decades and years and never are so close.

Now I have been alive longer than the amount of years I was able to spend with him.

Worst of all is that I have nothing and there is no future and that is never going to change; and the only exception (if I let myself imagine) may only come when my remains leave this earthly plain.

I think of all the daughters and fathers whom never had a chance and that I did have what some will never experience; this is why it is easier to make it through all the times that I miss him. The infinite moments that I will never allow to rest despite the poison of loss and trauma, it is necessary for me if I want to love and remember him as I do.  

many lives ago

you use to dream about the future till you realized it was already over

'because you have seen some unbelievable things'

                                     what a sad and gray day when you are turning into bone

September 14, 2011

sometimes I wish I could wish for revenge

Pull me out of the wake

I had hoped deep in your heart that you loved me too but I was so much more unsound then

its in the after

I sit by myself thinking of him, almost on the verge of tears or the threshold of a long and hard screaming cry, more in the past six months then in the past 16 years. As if I’m waking from the anesthesia I realize how horrible and painful how real…how it can never change or go back. Everything changes in the after. When I go over the circumstances of his demise, I wonder how a person can be expected to go on after watching the spirit of a man die and his vessel leaving the earth. I never had any chance at goodbye or see you…he was taken. I think of him all the time the stuff we will never get to do all the things we will never discuss, all the things I will never get to ask, hear his laughter, an impassioned monologue, or even the sound when he was complaining about, debating, or rebuffing something. The art we will never see, the food we will never taste, the news we will never get to say ‘did you hear about that?’ Get to talk of the books and films I watched that he had watched before because I am finally old and mature enough to read and understand. There will be no travels around the world, no more great writings out of him, no projects we could have created, no animals to rescue, no room that we planned to be just for drawing, painting, art. There are no more stories. It’s over. I think about him all the time anyway but now my mind might be in sync with his death, that he is dead that he has passed, and not just disappeared to never reappear again there is no mystery just craters… So quickly and briskly in six months didn’t miss a beat or birthdays… I only had 13yrs. I am in my third lifetime already at 29, in the after.

'Am I inside'

the storm had no ransom to cling for