an open letter for the past and the future's future.
you're worried. you're worried and you're nervous, you're sad and lonely and it's so obvious and just spilling and falling, raining from your eyes. just like drops of water haning from a leaky faucet, slipping off and falling. you hold everything too close, squeezing it tight, asphyxiation licking the last bits of life and love and the faint scent of happiness which somehow stuck to your fingers and toes. your feet smell like grass and dirt and earth and you still don't think that sunshine has a smell, or that maybe, when you lay down in tall weeds and with your head tilted back and your mouth open awe-ing that without constriction in your chest it's easier to breathe. and black ants dont bite, and birds and bugs and tiny things just sweep around you and you still won't to the flowers, naming "pretty weeds," shrugging, a misfortune which you have decided to become unable to cure.
you're worried, and you're sad, and there's no outlet for any of these thoughts, so they linger, make you bitter. more than anything you begin to want to be happy, to be tickeled. you can't taste rain, you can't see the individual blades in the grass, you can't feel the soft vibration through the seawater from a passing motorboat. but you wish for it, you wish for it more than anything, and you show these secrets to no one. they just dissapear quietly, twisting painful contortions like smoke rising from an extinguished candle in the middle of the night while you stare at your ceiling, straining your eyebrows into a perpetual expression of sadness and worry. it's the face you make when you make wishes on every long eyelash that fall on soft cheeks and fingers, a wish that counts twice when the clock hits consecutive digits. at 1:11 you wish for love. at 2:22 you hope for companionship. at 3:33 you imagine happiness.
and if you could only trust people. if you could trust people like tiny kittens, small hearts, pure life. blessed/cursed. if only people could resonate with the same honest vibrations that extend from a sleeping kitten, like karmic radiation, shakrahs exploding with peace. trust, and the hum floating out from somewhere unknown lulling you to sleep. a dull hum rising from the thought that maybe, if you could start slow- giving some love away to some anyone, that t could be somehow guaranteed they would give it back. as hard as it is to imagine, as hard as it is to find, i don't need to tell you that it's possible. _______ _______ has unlimited love to give, it's welling up inside her, it's ready to rain down like tears leaking from giant bars of sunshine, it's been spilling over since forever ago. since before america and before old sidewalks webbed wih cracks where boys walked and whistled and where girls wished for warm weather and wet hearts, while fathers wept and their daughters stopped wishing and started loving. you've been ready to open or burst or, fuck i don't know, you're ready for something, it's nothing i haven't seen before, you need a second hand, somebody to love and to worry about, but more importantly you need that someone, whoever you choose, you need them to assure you that they're worth worrying about- that they'll worry about you too, and that no matter what: if you let yourself in close to them they will still worry and always wait to be worried for. and no one knows why to worry or when. no one knows how, only that it must be your heart beating, and pumping without your own fist. whatever's a reason and there's plenty of time to wonder, wander. and at 4:44 there will be someone to call.
you can pick the day you die on. you can pick the time, pick an ending. but i know one thing, that when you die, a hopeful ghost is haunted by his wishes, having since become so hopeless.
..H
you're worried, and you're sad, and there's no outlet for any of these thoughts, so they linger, make you bitter. more than anything you begin to want to be happy, to be tickeled. you can't taste rain, you can't see the individual blades in the grass, you can't feel the soft vibration through the seawater from a passing motorboat. but you wish for it, you wish for it more than anything, and you show these secrets to no one. they just dissapear quietly, twisting painful contortions like smoke rising from an extinguished candle in the middle of the night while you stare at your ceiling, straining your eyebrows into a perpetual expression of sadness and worry. it's the face you make when you make wishes on every long eyelash that fall on soft cheeks and fingers, a wish that counts twice when the clock hits consecutive digits. at 1:11 you wish for love. at 2:22 you hope for companionship. at 3:33 you imagine happiness.
and if you could only trust people. if you could trust people like tiny kittens, small hearts, pure life. blessed/cursed. if only people could resonate with the same honest vibrations that extend from a sleeping kitten, like karmic radiation, shakrahs exploding with peace. trust, and the hum floating out from somewhere unknown lulling you to sleep. a dull hum rising from the thought that maybe, if you could start slow- giving some love away to some anyone, that t could be somehow guaranteed they would give it back. as hard as it is to imagine, as hard as it is to find, i don't need to tell you that it's possible. _______ _______ has unlimited love to give, it's welling up inside her, it's ready to rain down like tears leaking from giant bars of sunshine, it's been spilling over since forever ago. since before america and before old sidewalks webbed wih cracks where boys walked and whistled and where girls wished for warm weather and wet hearts, while fathers wept and their daughters stopped wishing and started loving. you've been ready to open or burst or, fuck i don't know, you're ready for something, it's nothing i haven't seen before, you need a second hand, somebody to love and to worry about, but more importantly you need that someone, whoever you choose, you need them to assure you that they're worth worrying about- that they'll worry about you too, and that no matter what: if you let yourself in close to them they will still worry and always wait to be worried for. and no one knows why to worry or when. no one knows how, only that it must be your heart beating, and pumping without your own fist. whatever's a reason and there's plenty of time to wonder, wander. and at 4:44 there will be someone to call.
you can pick the day you die on. you can pick the time, pick an ending. but i know one thing, that when you die, a hopeful ghost is haunted by his wishes, having since become so hopeless.
..H