These bridges were forged with careful consideration,
balancing the bounties they bestowed
with the vulnerabilities they created
just to be destroyed with reckless haste,
myopic confidence leaving only a disfigured trace
of their fallacious foundations
It never takes long to burn
but the salvage can take a lifetime
Some days, she is a sculpture:
carved into stone by saltwater floods and wildfires,
structures crumbled from earthquakes
and veins cracked open by avarice
But most days, she is a composite:
crafted between the hands of biology and physics,
tissue paper flesh creased in four dimensions
and painted gold by cosmic rays
I cannot trust my own memories:
they shift between the different dimensions
and leave me with traces of lives that I have never lived.
But I remember;
who. what. when. where. why. how.
Like a dream or a story,
where the protagonist is imaginary
and the enemy is a lesson.
Except, no one else believes me.
Men stagger between the living and the dead,
courting their demise with an inherent persistence.
But Death is a temperate mistress;
elusive in her conquests
and merciful in her ferocity.
She chases the ephemeral love of mortals,
guiding them to their promised fates
just to comfort them for a brief moment.
Crazy people cannot make autonomous decisions--
At least, that’s what they tell me
when they insert needles into my eroded arteries
and send lightning bolts through my skull.
They insist my memories are false,
that these methods will coax the demons from my eyes
and leave me with only the truth.
But I am still here, jumping between two realities;
like a breath escaping one lung
just to be trapped inside the other.
--even when all they want is their freedom.
Not all predators are natural,
but that doesn’t stop them:
from hunting the soft curve
between your jawline and clavicle,
from hoping that you won’t notice
the murderous spark in their eyes
They still offer the same comfort as a black widow,
ready to strike when their good deed is done.
I have touched blades forged of metal, stone, vegetation;
the pain is always the same when it separates my flesh
and leaves me to find a place along the rainbow:
flushed with hemoglobin
cyanotic from exsanguination
any and every color in between
But not all wounds are physical, even if they course just as deep.
Sometimes, all it takes is someone else’s good fortune
to remind me of my own personal failings
and leave me yearning for something better.
I once believed you were the epitome of men:
the strength of Atlas
with a heart touched by Aphrodite
but you were really no better than Dolos:
crafting an elaborate imitation of expectations
and passing it off as the real Aletheia
These minutes are intangible
strings of moments, all perfectly aligned
no left, no right, just looking back and moving forward
And I think that I have lived this before
the same moment of a different life
along another timeline with its own endpoint
But we are all stardust, rotating through the heavens
crushed between the ghosts of ourselves
no left, no right, just parallel races to the finish
I have existed forever
microscopic particles shifting
from one configuration
and I am not afraid of dying
organic molecules decaying
from mass to energy
then back again
I am never created nor destroyed
just always forgetting what I was before
Take me to where the stars ignite,
To where gases and particles collide.
Where fusion merges Earth with Skies,
Take me to where the Truth lies.
Carry me to the end of the Universe,
To where lights and heat disperse.
Where glaciers are hot and destiny unfolds
Carry me to where the Truth holds.
For still ignorant I am, and yet
I kindle this hope in my heart
That if the stars are to align
I'll see the night come alight.
When the reflection in the mirror plagues my day,
And every inch of me appears so wrong,
I think of cosmos that had made my DNA,
Of shattered stars growing as my bones.
And if the gleam of these unreachable forefathers,
If why we can`t stop looking at the skies,
Why can`t we see that smiting gleam in others,
Ourselves, with our star-made eyes?
she slips glycerin kisses
betwixt the stitches
of makeshift patchwork skin—
they flitter past synapses like fireflies
& dance behind the afterglow
with silver-tongued promises
half-whispered in the dark
fingertips drift apart,
I have fallen behind.
On my work. On my life. On this site. On everything.
My research is growing exponentially and I am now answering to four different doctors in addition to my supervisor on various different projects with each. I am also being drafted to help with the rollout for our new EHR system that is being implemented in the coming months. I feel like I'm stretched so thin that I'm getting nothing done. But, they're hopefully hiring a new girl for our department which should free me to work more on the research component of my tasks.
I have neglected my poetry. I have neglected reading poetry as well.
This week's stress overl
Warning: This journal is barely more than a petty rant about first-world problems that my brain just can't seem to balance because overthinking is its specialty.
I'm trying really hard to distract myself and not panic about all of the "what if's" that may be coming my way.
My boyfriend is on his way home from a business trip in California. A state that he has repeatedly stated he'd like to live in one day. He was sent there to help out one of his employer's clients whose liaison had recently quit. Yesterday, the client offered him a job.
He's currently considering it, pending a conversation about salary and benefits. And I am terri
Well, my eagerness to volunteer for and tackle researching patient outcomes with our cataract surgery patients has now officially paid off. In the coming weeks, I will be starting to work part time in the refractive clinic as their Research Coordinator. Eventually it will likely become full time and my current supervisor will have to replace me. But, I am so excited.
I keep telling my boyfriend that I just want to get paid to make excel workbooks. Now, I basically get to do exactly that. :)