be it what it will

Original poetry.

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There has been a tight feeling in your chest for a few years now When it came you didn’t know what it was All you knew was that all of a sudden it was hard to breathe and you couldn’t slow your heart rate no matter what you tried At first you thought it was the stress that it would end when you finally finished that paper Then you thought maybe it would end when you graduated Then you thought maybe something’s wrong with your heart but the tests didn’t show anything amiss So you decided just to live with it until it finally went away You didn’t know then that it had a name and it would never leave you Now some days are better than others There are even times where you feel normal you feel okay and you can almost trick yourself that it’s over or you imagined the whole thing But then there are days when your heart feels like its trying to climb out of your rib cage and it hurts to breathe and you just so desperately want it to end These days you feel a bit broken and you know you’re not the only one and that there are people to talk to medicine you could take But if you did that then you would finally have to put a name to it and then it would be inescapable You could no longer pretend even just for a little while that one day the tight feeling in your chest will loosen and you’ll be able to breathe freely again

O.B.

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Do not let dust gather on your body Many live life too fast missing small moments along the way Yet it is also possible to live too slowly Beware remaining unmoved for so long that you forget what it is to breathe new air It will not be long before you are buried where you lay

O.B.

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I miss you the way I miss a moment in time Perhaps I miss who I was then Desperate to return to a version of myself that didn’t yet know what it was to lose you Perhaps I miss the place I met you Longing for surroundings where I last felt unburdened Perhaps I miss the feelings you awoke Desiring to be in love again for the first time Just as I cannot go back you are no longer in reach belonging to a part of my life long gone

O.B.

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I wonder what it feels like to have a quiet mind, silence reverberating on walls of bone. I wonder if I could live in such a void. While reading, I walk on the moon. While walking, I play symphonies. Yet sometimes I crave a subdued mind, no sound or distraction. But would this emptiness be worth the loss of such bewitching chaos?

O.B.

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the case creaks as it opens to polished curves darkened with age fingers trembling as they reach out lighter than it looks raised in the air the first stroke of the bow draws out a single pure note with a whisper the arrow is drawn swiftly from its quiver notched and pulled string creaking while lips brush over feathers a release that makes the bow sing and the shaft fly to strike its target she feels vibration of the wood against her skin hears the resonance so clearly in her ear all is lost but the echo

O.B.

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When my father sleeps his wrinkles smooth out the corners of his mouth relax his eyes close and his body is still, lifeless. His corpse is stretched out on the couch and I stop and watch. His chest barely moves. Sometimes I reach out and shake him awake. Sometimes I tiptoe on.

O.B.

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'anywhere but here' I whisper to the dark I clutch the book in my hands and wish more than anything that I could slip between its pages and find myself anywhere but here any place but here where the dull monotony drags at the soul and there is always work to be done and I am always tired it will never be enough this life that every human leads I feel it in my bones I lost my mind to stories of great adventures long ago I live for my fantasies I live for the unreal anywhere but here if I could find myself in the worlds of my mind I wish more than anything as I dream I whisper to the dark 'anywhere but here'

O.B.

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Will I ever see you again? Not likely. You were just one person in a sea of millions. How can I find you when I don't know your name? I remember your face so clearly. Eyes withdrawn and sad. Cheeks sunken in. The tattoo on your right cheek of a pale blue cross. That tattoo. I don't know why it stuck with me, why you stuck with me. You never even glanced up from the ground where you sat. You never saw me. I walked by and turned the corner. Out of sight in under a minute. You were so young, looked so tired and frail. Battered paperbacks on a piece of cardboard in front of you. All you had to offer. I thought about stopping and buying one. But years of experience taught me not to give. So I walked on. So I remain haunted. Where are you now? Will I ever see you again? I should have stopped bought a book and offered you a smile. Now all I have is a face and a tattoo.

O.B.

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there are some nights sleep eludes me behind my closed eyes awash with blood scenes of my death play out tears rise and tumble gasps choke me I can't breathe crawl to the floor pressing my forehead to the cool wood fingers scramble grasping for something to hold on to all I ever wanted to say ever wanted to do leaking out sliding down my face wrapping around my throat I can't breathe

O.B.

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when they speak of Icarus they tell only of his folly they do not tell of his childhood spent with his face turned toward the sky they do not tell of his frustrated howls when his feet would not leave the ground they do not speak of his wide smile when at last he felt the wind and the sun they do not speak of his wild laugh as he plummeted they do not tell of his sister Illusion pulling his blistered and ruined body from the ocean they do not tell of her crafting wings of her own to follow they do not know that as she fell she understood why he laughed

O.B.

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I poured a piece of my soul into you and it settled next to your heart. Everything you do reverberates inside me as if we were tied together by a string. But you did not feel the tug. I ache and I do not know how to cut the cord. I wish to take back what is mine but can I reach inside and retrieve it? Or is it so much a part of you that it is lost to me?

O.B.

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civilization fell in silence no catastrophic event that tore apart the world leaving only dust it its wake it ended slowly and quietly buildings decaying weeds growing in the cracks when the great skyscrapers fell no one was left to see or mourn

O.B.