When I was young, in the back seat of my mothers blue Honda civic, I’d catch a whiff of that sweet smelling earth kicked up from the mowers cutting the grass. No matter what was happening in that car, or in my head, the scent of split blades of green sliced through me and paused my very mind, connecting me right to the present.

I think it’s why I can sit for hours next to the chicken pen and listen to them flap their feathers in the hopes of one day soaring off. Soft moaning clucks break up the silence of my field.

I’m writing this, sitting on the pavement outside of a small donation center. It looks strange, as the sun hits my skin.

Just be still. Hear the wind rustle the leaves, follow the clouds across the sky, sit under the tree for shade.

I don’t know where this moment will take me. Maybe nowhere at all. Oh the warmth consumes me.

Don’t open my wounds

just like that…

I’ll bleed on the floor,

I’ll bleed down my back.

Stop hurting me,

please.

I’m begging you

on my knees.

I’ll just hide

inside of this box.

Until it all ends,

until it all stops…

Stand still

around the eggshells

Don’t move

Remember to them

You have nothing to prove

Whisper the truth

to yourself

You don’t owe them

Or anyone else

My silence grows as the milkweeds sway

Like a cancer spreads from day to day

For if I open my mouth it’d be a match

Over dry hay through a barn hatch

The fire would soar, reaching the sky

I’d probably jump in, I’d probably die

I’ll inhale as much as I can, as the summer air whistles into my rolled-down window, wind knotting my hair. The wildflowers line the sides of the road like lights guiding a plane on a runway at night. I’m at peace, but the dirt, it seems, has gotten wet.

Don’t dig; you’ll unearth the box.

The one where I placed my softness, so I may be strong. The resting place of so many I wished to smother under a pillow made of sand. Here it comes, the haunting.

Mirrors are plenty when you’re alone, a manageable funhouse. No one asks for a constant pompilot being shone in their face, though; it makes us acknowledge too much.

I suppose that’s what makes symbiosis in a relationship. When you’re not afraid of your own reflection, the mirror of someone else, you’re likely to grab the shovel and unearth the box yourself.

Because who fucking needs the box?

What use is the box when you can finally be your softness? When you can let go of all the pain from your past because it isn’t your present. Brush the dirt off the box, unseal the lid. Throw it the fuck out.

Let it go.

Set the world on fire

Go ahead, get burned

Cry out your hardships

Ignore what you’ve learned

Black is your smoke

It rises in plumes

For my attention

Amongst all my tombs

Oh Tragedy, woe is me

My lungs draw air

But I still can’t breathe

Oh tragedy

Where is your shame

Go forth from once you came

Oh tragedy

You wont succeed

In me is all I need

Don’t die here, where it’s hollow and cold

The sun will come back

Trust me, I know

I was there, my fingers turned blue

Misery was all that I knew

Hold on, the light will shine

Even my darkness subsides

Breathe, you’re still here

Let go of anger

Let go of fear

What do you do when the rainmaker runs

When thunder roars, and roads flood

Where will you hide when the truth rains down

In your castle of cards, Joker’s the crown

How will it feel when karma returns

The favors you gave when the old clock turned

Think of me then, as it all falls apart

The karma was me, and my cold-blooded heart

It doesn’t matter where I’ve been

The people I’ve touched

The skin I’m in

All I am is a memory

To former lovers

And enemies