morgue and final resting

Nyl they/he

[restless-and-ready]

“fruit.”

to group is to forsake uniqueness in favour of what is ‘base level similarities’

we take the over powering nature of bananas, the richness of an otaheiti, the subtle tang of a kiwi, the saccharine sweetness held within oranges

and we do to them the disservice of dulling them down

just enough to make them fit

mutilated and generalized

we say “fruit.”

we say “fruit”

five letters,

a summation of something larger than could ever be encapsulated by a single word

it is in our nature to categorize

when we see that bowl of mangoes and june plums, ripe with summer,

we say

[restless-and-ready]

You have cozened me; that is to say,

you have slipped swiftly into the arteries that pump sweetness through my body.

You fixed your saccharine mouth to my ear and whispered the nothings I sought to hear

Made me an active participant in my own betrayal.

You pulled the rug over my eyes--- the rug I sewed for our little house.

The same needle hath sewn my destruction 

and is this irony?

Can I call it that? Or am I not allowed?

Must I remain quiet now in acceptance of my failure?

I ask these questions now, entirely too late

[restless-and-ready]

like warm blankets and pin pricks

The earth cradles the sun in its arms

soothes and nurtures love incarnate

says, “be soft and swift my bright boy”

and the brilliance of him burns shadows into everything at his eyes’ first opening

He melts himself into the crevices of life

arms open, wide and weary

he is ready to give his all to everything

because he has not found the thing; the person

someone to pin all of this unto

this feeling devouring him

Love,

in his bones,

in his fingertips and bouncing off his skin—

like light off of his glasses

Love warm like blankets

and piercing into us all,

pin prick sharp and unexpected.

[restless-and-ready]

And It’s Driving Me Mad

I talk about how time waits for no one

but not of how I wait for time—

to feedback loop around until

the same sin has been circled twelve times over.

We talk of going forward,

With our eyes and lungs

open and ready to breathe our future in.

But spare no dialogue of backward stumbles

or foggy lungs, ill-equipped and underprepared

to accept fully the consequences of leaving the past behind us.

I move forward in perfect synchrony with the

clock on my wrist

and hope the loud tick of the long hand is enough

to distract me from the urge to look back

Like Lot’s wife to the city; Orpheus to Eurydice;

Me to something long dead and half-rotted.

[restless-and-ready]

Short Hand on Two

I had a dream

where I figured out

exactly who I was.

It couldn’t have been

further from

the truth I had—

A dream where a

broken clock kept

feeding me visions.

Snapshots of a

life well lived.

I knew not to

trust it to be

right more than twice.

But I just—

couldn’t help myself.

Idealism lent itself,

like a hand,

to my delusions.

They were grander

than the convoluted

truth of my life.

n.s.

[restless-and-ready]

I cannot have everything

So I will want for nothing

I will

take my desire, swallow it down in place of pride

Grit my fists, close my epiglottis prematurely

I will not want—

I will not face disappointment vociferously

It is not my way.

n.s.

[restless-and-ready]

waiting room

sitting by the phone

(waiting)

thumb in skin, darting eyes filled to the brim

(pick up please pick up)

sword in throat, heart in hand

and other misused metaphors

flitting through my mind by the thousands

(the number you have dialed is-)

Unavailable.

11 letters, 11 minutes in the waiting room

i wrote shitty poetry off your pain to ease the wait

not sure if it helped

(would you like to leave a voicemail?)

i hope there’s an answering machine wherever you are

n.s.

[restless-and-ready]

the time i swallowed beads

i was twelve

tying together strings of peace like friendship bracelets too tight to be wrapped around my neck

suffocating on purpose

swallowing it all down in one go

erupting geysers in my stomach from ingesting things not meant for that,

things not meant for little girls like me

i've got a tummy ache mommy can we go now?

to the doctor, can we go now?

not yet

hush up it's just begun, it isn't over yet

the healing doesn't come until the hurt is entirely over and it is not over baby, not yet

you aught to know the order of things

do not forget

fit yourself in between the beads of remembrance

do not forget

it is in your best interest right now not to

n.s.

[restless-and-ready]

sometimes there are momentary reprieves where my mind falls silent enough to love you.

[restless-and-ready]

n.s.

[restless-and-ready]

How tragic a thing to love with the tenacity of Gods?

These days I find myself, more often than not,

perusing cobbled streets and old bookshops.

Making shallow imitations of voices no longer there, touches no longer present…

The prolonged existence of you is merely a conjuring,

never something tangible.

You’ve always had a knack for being just out of reach.

When you look down at the world and I look to the heavens,

do you think our life together exists again in that minuscule moment of alignment?

Tell me yes, I miss you.

Tell me we’re not, I’m not doomed

Tell me we— do we still have a chance?

I would like to meet again someday.

n.s.

[restless-and-ready]

Rot Me, Rot You

Crack parts of my soul, I insist.

Out of my aching bones will spill this and this:

my wants, my desire, my heart oh it hungers

to be broken and consumed by you, a broken other.

Call me the sun

but crack me open like the earth.

It’s okay I’m sure this is just what I deserve.

Your rot should infest

and i'm the closest thing to you—

let me be another thing that you can ruin too.

No it's alright, oh don't cry

I promise you it's fine.

Accept that you are ruiner.

Accept that you are mine.

Remember that I’m the selfless one here

and i'm giving myself to you

just to show you what you're capable of

when you give in and get cruel

remember i'm the victim

the sun and the earth

when i finally fall apart

i'll know that you did first

thanks to me of course

look the role's reverse

be careful who you rot

be careful who you hurt

examine their motive

examine their drive

they don't want to give themselves to you

they just don't want you to thrive

the signs were all there

the begging and the pleading don't ever let another broken thing trick you out of healing

n.s.

[restless-and-ready]

I will write to you about something

that is about something else entirely

And you will not decipher it

because that is my intention.

I will mourn the premature loss of

understanding,

knowing that i killed it.

n.s.

[restless-and-ready]

ivory  on caramel

bruises on knobby knees

the precipice has become the base again

all that work has been undone again

i'm unsure if i want to climb up again

let me think—

think about whether the fall invalidates the gritty steps up,

the harsh winds of such a high altitude against the harsh wings of my perseverance

i am no icarus but sometimes—

sometimes it feels like there's tar on my back and it burns, oh it burns when i peak

and the fall that comes after?

let this be a lesson

what kind?

the one that warns of the hurt but let's you hurt over and over and over again because it is not the kind of lesson that's worth learning

it's the kind that you acknowledge and shift past

like a sign at the bottom of a stair well that says "beware"

like the too big hand of god

that you bite at when it tells you to cease your climbing and destruction

not all lessons break through calcuim hardened crainiums

i wish this one did

i wish i could quit

i wish there was no wish to try again

to put myself back at the top

but i think the view is worth it

i think cherry red cascading like water is worth it.

N.S.

[restless-and-ready]

Delicate strokes on a canvas,

Made in the depths of a pit

When pathos was at an all time high,

Mean nothing to me now.

Too many lines of error, too little love left

There is no space left to feel it..

I wonder if God's hands blind him to the beauty of his creations too.

Does he, like me, forget the art of the craft?

Is this why he has angels to serve as reminders?

Where are my angels?

I need them to remind me that there's beauty in creation, lest I forget.

N.S.

[restless-and-ready]

when i went to bed last night,

i tucked myself into myself

i tucked my fears beneath blankets

hoping to lay them to rest

i sung half hearted lullabies that

fell

on

distracted ears.

when i went to bed last night,

i went with the hope that things would

change...

i woke up a shell of myself.

N.S.

[restless-and-ready]

teach me to get out of my own way

to let creativity flow from mind to fingertips

without balling my hands into fists

out of fear

fear that it will not be good enough

that this art will not tell a story

or build worlds in the banks of the minds of people

teach me to let myself be heard and understood

to let the thrumming of my heart

resonate in others and cause a start

an awakening, something to shake ground

and touch lives

teach me,

teach me.

N.S.