Morbid (An acknowledgment of simple truths)
In a lot of ways I still feel like the terrifying reflection in the eyes of the child I once was,
I didn’t blink,
Were you afraid then? I was.
So much has changed and I’m delightful when I chose to be,
But I don’t understand why do many adults are afraid of the dark,
It seems childish.
It was scary and timeless then, it will be scary and timeless now,
It’s like the silver lining you touch, outstretched hand to the mirror,
Would your reflection scare you if it looked at you, staring with a child’s eyes?
Because they watch you to, I’m sorry to burst your comfy bubble.
It all breaks eventually, and the only choice we have is whether or not to be afraid. It is simply terrible and simply beautiful, like two ends of the same cross.
Would you survive as a Ghost? Would you survive as a person if you were pressed into flowers, inside the pages of a journal, into photos and scattered into different trinkets, like the magnets you press into the fridge?
I just think that we can do better.
Will it frighten you if I pull a Solomon,
I will slip into your skin and act as you do,
So that you may destroy us both,
And break free.
How bitterly strange that it is easier than “trying”,
To mimic. How utterly bizarre.
We are all social shape shifters: that part is given;
But do we know how to use passing as a blessing, so that others might know and be strengthened for it?
Superpowers worth learning,
If you already can’t stop paying attention.
I am a Muse, a Bitch, a Liar, a Villain, an Elf, a Nurturer, a Healer, a Mom, a Companion, a Secret Keeper, a Child, a Grandmother, a Monster, and a Princess, and that is only this week.
When you look upon me, will you recognize what lies outside of the mirror, and let it be good?
Or will you recognize that the only difference between you and I in the acting,
Is that I do it much too well?
It’s like nightshade or a rainbow, take your pick.
You still can’t scare me,
Throw another chair,
Spew the rest you’ve been saving out,
Poison ebbs out eventually,
Even if it’s just in your pee.
What I don’t understand, above all things,
Is the definition of dangerous…
Is dangerous an awareness beyond breaking,
Or is dangerous the recognition of the truth,
In the ways we don’t want to see it?
I will let you know once I find out,
I hope Jesus will tell me himself.
Until then, I suppose I have been like a Mirror,
I will be, I once was, I am
Like a sifter of flour,
Like a scale and a magnifying glass.
So be it.
Eventually it will all come out anyways,
I just wonder, above all things,
If the things we are so afraid of are nearly so frightening as living with the fear?
I believe that Fear himself has hope in Salvation,
And I know that I am not wrong.
If you had to draw blood before you lost focus,
Are we so different that our enemies?
Those things that don’t get covered on the news?
Will you read this and have peace? Or will it leave you stunned and chilled to the bone?
I can’t know,
It is terrifying,
And although I know beauty that would startle even the Grinch,
I just wonder if there isn’t a certain truth to the sadness too.
When I was most depression as a high schooler,
There was a certain sickly sweet recognition in a good cry,
It was like tipping your hat to an old friend,
It was frightening,
But oddly comforting.
Why are we so afraid of graves in the United States,
If it is morbid, then so am I: I found most peace in the cementarios in Chile,
The monuments to entire families and offices like avenues and parks,
Cities to the dead here and there,
Overlooking the ocean.
It was beautiful to see flowers crawling across burial stones because there is a certain peace there.
To eat wild black raspberries as you walk past the misted blues and reds in flower beds,
Past the monastery you found when you spotted the giant wooden Jesus, palms spread wide in the distance.
If the most simple equations of our lives are as basic as life and death,
Why do we fear them; knowing math like it was printed in Wall street?
Isn’t it a relief?
To know that at some point, there will be a rest for all people?
I knew walking down solemn streets in between hummingbirds and bird shit,
That at least I was comforted, truly alone;
Me and the friends inside their graves.
Day of the Dead and Mexico,
Is Death so bitter that we sweeten it in sugar and dyes?
I often wonder.
Could it be catharsis,
When we forget where we began?
Or is it just blindness and living with a heartless neighbor?
Certainly not me.
I hope more than anything that peace comes to all,
At least for a time.
I don’t make up the rules,
But if it is all some sort of a twisted game,
I pray that we all enjoy it just a little bit more than we are today.
Can you appreciate goodness if you don’t know the price it takes to establish it,
Or better yet,
I pray that we may all know all things one day.
Until then, I hope in grave sites just as much as I hope in Walmart,
I hope equally,
I hope that the depths and the heights of our lives may not matter, just the same.
Wouldn’t you like to know the full truth?
We may as well ask now,
We will know eventually anyway.