A miracle waiting to happen
Did you know, some stars are barely seen to the naked eye?
I could look up why, but I just sympathize;
not everyone wants to be seen naked in front of your eyes
- in your empty, unlighted night.
I just finished another round around the Sun
and another round of drinks,
wearing my black dress as, I stumble across the city,
my golden cross necklace, I shine
and I giggle, because I look just like a shooting star.
191 hardly woken up mornings later,
I say good night to the sun and I sit down at the porch.
Past made, waterproof wood, heavy on the future,
leads me to the garden,
where miracles used to happen,
where I grew up spending my time dreaming
to become all of me
who I’m not anymore.
Now it’s cold and dark so you must be around,
I see my breath - I guess I’m alive.
I’m alone, still, too many,
golden cross necklace on my neck,
- the only evidence that once, I never was alone,
but it feels like a hand now choking my faith,
and I don’t talk to God anymore,
I just wonder if the sky could hear a shooting star’s prayer.
If my light is out,
my God is gone,
if I’m too late to never arrive
into your filthy hands,
if I never gave it,
but now it’s yours,
then fall follows crush,
and winter breaks the ice
so to spring’s sky I can pour my sadness into.
From this porch,
from where I started
and start it over again:
I wish that your demon went to sleep forever.
I wish you looked up just to see something bigger than you.
I wish you had a wondering eye when you see a shooting star,
an innocent and quick heartbeat after you made a wish
and if you wished to be a better man,
I would even fall from the sky for you.
I clap my five-cornered wings
and I fly back a lifetime to my garden of Eden
so I can tell you about miracles,
shooting stars and why I believe in all of it still, listen.
My lips back then didn’t know how to pronounce God
it could only laugh or cry hopelessly.
All I knew was sweet nothings,
life was everything, but it had no meaning,
careless and wild,
nothing could hurt me
trees to fall from,
flowers to kill
the garden planted itself in me
and watered me my whole life.
Grandma’s garden has always been filled with
seasons of colours
the place where change was allowed.
I was June a minute ago and sweet as peach jam,
but then I ran through my kingdom,
I rained on everything
I played with a dog,
I told him 'catch me if you can'
and like winter, he ran after me.
I was so loved by nature
the green grass stain
and brown dirt on me
was like a kiss from up there.
And I knew in falling there is no danger
when you learn how to arrive safely.
When I saw a shooting star
I never thought of my shiny rock dying.
I would laugh in the middle of August,
thinking it’s about to roll along the sky
and arrive somewhere beautiful.
So I made a wish before September came around:
'I’ll wait patiently for summer to arrive,
and I’ll celebrate fall,
as the death of something warm,
as the birthday of my candles lit up.
And I’ll hug a cold December,
I’ll learn how to strike a light,
I’ll never hide from growing spring,
and I’ll always seek my versions I’ll become,
as the nights are changing.'
When you’re a child
you have blind faith
in stars, lucky numbers and birthday candles.
Your young and fast heartbeat
before you wish for something better.
You close your eyes for a second
and the light and shine
that was on the candle or sky before
finds home in your heart.
When you’re older
you’re muddy and dirty
and it doesn’t bring you joy anymore,
August is lacking in shooting stars,
your birthday becomes miserable,
and the nights are not changing,
they're stuck in time
you’ll still have the light in your heart,
that will lead you out from the darkest nights.
The twenty-something candles
won’t notice whether it’s your tired tears
or your hoping breath
that blows its fire out,
the day that buries you alive
is also the day that will remind you:
sadly you’re still alive.
Because we’re not shooting stars,
the way we fall is not poetic.
We were made of chemicals
and we’re dusty and we collide
but our atoms don’t shine,
we only arrive safely
if we have something to fall on.
We don’t say
“poor shooting star became a victim of darkness”,
we say “I made a wish”
and think about someone we love
or something we wish to be.
We’ll point at the sky and say
“That’s my favourite”,
and we’ll remember them as they were:
shiny and special.
Us, wish-making humans
we will be seen broken and bruised after we fell
and before we die,
we don’t make other people’s dreams come true.
We only hope to have all of our dreams achieved
and to have been special for one starry heart.
The night I clapped my everlasting wings,
packed my things and flew to you,
I brought all the miracles, shooting stars and
my burnt down wishes of mine to you.
I didn’t know:
once your door closes,
a new one will never do.
Being naked in front of you
had me put darkness on
like it’s my favourite sweatshirt.
Two letters is the heaviest word
my mouth kept saying,
but your ears never heard.
My last birthday, my death first,
not today’s, always tomorrow’s hurt.
I stumbled out of your apartment
later that morning,
a bit still drunk, a lot stuck,
people woken up to a new day
and the city was about to come alive,
but my sun never found a way out of your elevator.
Sleepy strangers must’ve passed by me
but I never noticed,
I was too busy listening
to the car's mirror whispering
and its sick engine coughing:
“poor shooting star became a victim of the darkness”.
Slow motion as I sit in the taxi’s backseat,
we don’t say hey, when we’re already gone,
I’m just wondering how do I announce death?
How do I tell my friends I was used up for one dirty wish?
If I tell them last night was my August,
but the stage became a hostage
and I looked just like a meteor:
that night was for me to shine
but it was mostly for me to
fall.
“Will the world ever end?”
- I ask my grandma as I play mermaid in the bathtub
“Is this the world ending?”
- I ask myself, as I wash my bloody dignity off my body.
Was I your partner in crime
when I let all the evidence be washed off
and given to the river?
Months of hiding behind oversized guilt,
months spent in silence,
months of covered mirrors
is the proof I was here before.
I laid through days and nights
closed eyes because I knew
i’ll never get to heaven,
and I’ve witness too many deaths of mine
to trust me I can begin again.
How many more deaths of mine
do I have to witness to realize,
life is not about attending my funerals?
Life should be about looking behind the shiny elements
and noticing the dark infinite stage
where they play their parts.
The night you taken off my black dress
put me on the road to help me
taking off my black dress.
So I made a wish,
like I had nothing to lose,
after many painful conversations with the ones
who have been drawn from my lips and heart.
The curtain was never on the mirrors
- it was on my eyes.
Waiting to be pulled down,
waiting for me to go back
and play my part on the stage called life.
It didn’t matter if I played to an empty house,
all I cared about
if a little girl was still sitting somewhere in the seats,
waiting for a miracle to happen.
If I still have her to lose,
it means I still have her to win.
So I made a wish
to be caught,
to be seen,
to be learned
one more time.
And from the sky full of stars,
God saw me bowing,
caught me falling
from your ego,
had me land in mud and dirt,
six feet under,
slept through winter.
I didn’t know it wasn’t my grave,
because I felt small, it felt dark and got me dirty.
He had put me back in the garden,
to my roots,
to my playground,
to where it’s safe,
where it’s familiar
and kissed my bruised cheeks and said:
“Once you were a small girl in the middle of august wishing for growth”.
Move out to move on,
I left the city before you owned my mind,
but almost a year and wish later,
I let the city move out from my heart
the mornings are cold but in a way pretty,
and the stars are truly seen outside of the city
the porch is closer,
my nightmares are far from over,
but at least I have a dream again.
I hold my body tight,
even though I can still feel you
revolve in orbit around my darkest what if's,
I won’t let you land in my new territory.
This porch, just like the coffin
wasn’t big enough for the both of us.
You killed me, but tonight is your wake
you’re not here, it’s just December in me aches
and I don’t say a word, I just look up with tears in my eyes -
somewhere your shooting star is wishing
you made a wish to be a better human
so it could roll along your darkness
and die in peace.
snowghoul
titsay
gummygunk
origamiaround
romaincrisis
jacobvanloon