Ripstop
as a fabric
I am made of Nylon
and like every
manmade
material I start out
Natural
a thread
of living and dead
fossil
fuel
that is made
by heating and cooling
made plastic
stretched across
the skeleton
of an umbrella
to keep the family
from the sun and rain
and wrap us in between
the fluff and down
in the glove of
of winter
it's a fabric called
Ripstop
and for all its strength
if it rips
it doesn't stop
and every attempt
to glue or patch
makes a bigger rip
in Time
03.15.2025
Broken pieces challenge @dctezcan
Adult Pain, Childhood Trauma
Float above
Sea of fog
Suffer in
Emotional bog
Helpless child
Full of fears
Has no hope
Shedded tears
Always thought
It’d never end
Broken spirit
Unable to mend
Persona non grata
Called a liar
Labeled weak
Psychic misfire
Trust no one
Wasted breath
Stuck performing
This living death
Anger consumes
Pent up hatred
Start to realize
Nothing is sacred
Mental scars
Never healed
Time passes
Pain concealed
Growing old
Full of anxiety
Try to fit
Within society
The Depleted Vacuous Mail Slot
There's a wormhole in every
Child's smile...
There are broken networks
That we have defiled...
There's a planet spinning
Right off of it's track...
All the robber barons
Would never look back...
Now the whalers have us
On our side...
While the light is draining
From the pregnant skies...
They are flaunting forceps...
Drooling our fate...
While they tear thru tendons...
Throw paper plates...
Did we dream is differently...
So wrong?...
I can hear the night bird's
Stolen song...
I can feel the Puma's eyes
Rescind...
As I twist like autumn
Leaves in the wind...
Am I swollen with fibers
From desolate worlds?...
While the flesh for the Pharaoh
Burns down as it curls...
All the Autumn descending,
And eluding sight...
There's an eddy in upswing
Of my scalding sight...
There's a wormhole in every
Child's smile...
There are broken networks
That we have defiled...
There's a planet spinning
Right off of it's track...
All the robber baron's
Would never look back...
2/28/25
Bunny Villaire
Edit #3
Star Meant for Me
Beneath the stars in the silent night,
I searched for you in endless light.
Through ages past, through distant glow,
You were the answer I longed to know.
You shine like a wave in the evening sea,
A star that burns just for me.
And no matter how many lights appear,
Only your glow will guide me near.
Victoria Lunar. 2025.
I thought of grief today...
Grief is such an odd thing to me.
Yes an emotion,
yes a memory,
yes an event,
yes a physical ache.
So a "thing" is really the only way I can describe it.
It is water one day, soothing your insides with memory of a loved one that used to be.
Then ice the next moment freezing any hope you had in your heart that today would be less painful.
That at least for today, you wouldn't want to join them.
I met death when I was 12 years old at my cousin's wake.
He was 21 years old.
My aunt Cecilia stood by his casket, carefully combing her fingers through his blonde hair.
I was terrified, stuck to my chair facing the casket.
My aunt saw me, saw the terror and waved me over.
As she thread her fingers heartbreakingly slow through her son's hair, she whispered, "When you touch his hair, it is as if he is still here."
I think that was the saddest sentence I had ever heard, and to this day I think the same can be true.
Because hair is dead, it has always been the most unalive thing about humans, and yet it was not cold marble when you touched it.
It was, as she put it so simply, "... as if he [was] still here."
These roads that are older than I— I wonder if they groan under the weight as I drive over them now.
If they whine when I grumble about a pothole, but it used to be my mother grumbling about them while I sat unaware in the back seat.
I try not to humanize everything, but what is one to do when there is life in every fleeting thing?