The absence of pain
where pain once was
has a certain weight to it

Like a cartoon
dotted line
blinking in and out

We’re grateful yet we
simultaneously
reach back to remember

So we don’t forget
how good it feels
to not feel anything

Dill pickle chips from the bag taste like
sitting on your couch (too) late at night
laughing in a way that felt just right
even as everything went wrong

You danced a chacha with loyalty
Marionetted my empathy
Desperate for credit for your entry
When you should have been there all along

Craving childhood, you
whipped up a box mix of
angel food cake
leaving ample dregs in the mixing bowl
and handing me the spatula
as you grabbed another spoon

The batter was tingly on our tongues
sharp and fresh
and you smiled lost
in thought
as your spoon
clinked the glass

Had I known
this would be
one of the last
times I’d see you this well, I
would have waited
for the cake to bake

Gone to the store
gotten you fresh strawberries
instead of letting you
make do with frozen
Whipped the cream by hand
stayed all night

I hope it still tasted like you remembered

I know that I won’t ever forget

The splintering of ice
a satisfying crack
reverberating back
as I walk along the path

Winter’s holding strong
but it won’t be here for long

Picking up heavy things
and putting them down

Running on a rubber belt
that’s rolling around

Buying things, planting things
watching them grow

Typing to the people
that live inside my phone

Making bread
Baking bread
(Eating so much fucking bread)

Ordering shoes
knowing I don’t need them

Binging shows
Sewing clothes
Taking walks along the grove

Writing these words
Hoping someone reads them

It seems like
the less I have to do
the less motivation I have to do it

I am simultaneously
grateful for the reprieve
& wishing for another brainless mission
to keep myself occupied

I’m looking forward
to someday having a mind
that is not filled to the brim with
compartments
stacked with dread

but for now
I’ll give myself the grace to just
let it wander

Two plain slices
of soft white bread
butter an inch thick

Precut squares
of cheddar cheese
folded down to fit

Crunchy salty
yellow chips
crumbling in their pouch

Crinkly plastic
water bottles
dripping like our brows

Satisfied and
cradled by
the heavy summer air

Simple meals
taste like gourmet
when they are made with care

Is it writers block
am I in shock
or have I fully lost it?

Are all creatives
running dry
or are we just exhausted?

My notes app
tweet drafts
scraps of paper
are just full of fragments

I’ll have a
half idea
but it ends up
sitting stagnant

much like this one

I think I finally recognize
the you that lived inside my mind
is not the you I’ll find
when I return

Despite the fact I told myself
this chapter’s closed and on the shelf
we’re right back here because
I never learn

I know that I have always said
that I am content to wander
but the constant insecurity
has made me start to wonder

whether I’d be better zooming in
and narrowing my focus
from this net I’m casting scattershot
and pulling back in darkness

I don’t know if it’s right to think
“it happens for a reason”
or if everyone who says that
is just lacking in ambition

So we can either sit and wait
for it to happen to us
or we make the fear we’re carrying
a catalyst
to fuel us