lonliness

FUTILE

I tire of love and terrorism, the
way my broken heart lay claim
to territory unknown before; the
way the softness of these blankets fall
like bombs in your wake; the
way the hunger for calm strikes and
starves and
feeds in rations; the
way this post trauma stands guard
at closed eyes and
changes sentry as I awaken;
the way it loops itself about my mushroom cloud, and
belts its breath on my cheek. I
tire of scratching at hope like
hope is a trivial blush at another chance. I
grow weary of this kamikaze daze,
my eyes the fluorescence of every wound un-bared. I
ignite from within, limp and lost
from so much exploding without.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 12 July, 2017

AND THEN WE WEREN’T

we were pointless once;
that is to say
we were always in growth
and there was never a time
when what we had would stop
to be what we
‘had’

our map didn’t come with
those flags to pin and say
– this is us –
or
– we are here –
we were the whole map
we were every map
and then we weren’t

now we are no longer pointless;
we are ‘that point’
the marked X
(without the treasure)
the one that simply says
– here –
and my heart is this map
and it is pierced and leaking
and all that it contains
will run like ink
across the world,
our red flag standing on end
and flying alone
to remind me

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 22 April, 2017