I try to collect moments of warmth in the winter.
I hold a cup of hot chocolate,
and the fire begins to glow.
The sun breaks through a hazy dawn,
and glimmers into my window.
But I can only find fleeting moments of warmth,
with pastel ice shining in the sunrise,
and frost gripping onto everything in sight.
I can finally bundle up now,
and my layers can hug me tight.
Scarcity turns warmth into luxury.
I search for it all around me.
But no one’s beside me as I run down this trail;
hot water runs down my spine to no avail.
Alone and silently,
I crave moments of warmth in the winter.
Rushing to begin my digital day.
Music on repeat continues to play.
Rushing to begin my digital day.
Music on repeat continues to play.
Chicago Union Station, Illinois
Déjà vu turns into routine,
my life becomes one movie scene.
Every day is the same,
there are no surprises.
Eventually, this monotony normalizes.
I go to sleep and wake up to yesterday.
I tell myself to find joy in the little things,
but I’m a city bird with restless wings.
And as the holidays approach,
I need one little miracle.
One escape. One adventure.
One more thing to hold onto forever,
as we continue to live life like clockwork.
I know of an old house,
with crumbling patterned wallpaper and rusting photo frames.
Somehow, it holds its ground while continuing to burn in flames.
It consumes those within;
closing its doors behind all those who once curiously came in.
Abandoned for a while now
and forgotten by outsiders,
this house
is not
empty.
It traps its stories inside.
Every mirror reflecting its past glory and ticking clocks recounting its pride.
All those moments gone and memories lost are found within this house.
So I enter hoping to remember;
hoping to reminisce.
And at first,
the sight of old corduroy couches brought me back.
I know these steps, I know these floors.
I know this dining room window light.
And i’ve missed it.
If I could bottle up the way the sun hit the walls every morning
and drink it for breakfast
I would.
I felt comfort in the arms of the past,
trying to make each and every memory last.
But there were holes.
Unfamiliar corners
and new scents
that kept appearing.
Shadows tainting my precious memories
like invasive vines wrapping tightly around a tree.
I was suffocating.
The more time I spent in this house searching
the more it took from me,
until I had to face what I tried to ignore.
Sometimes, what’s lost shouldn’t be looked for.
another thing i really enjoy writing about is connection. and while this is a very broad topic that tons of people enjoy writing about, and many people in general strive to understand, it still has its interesting aspects. there’s so many ways to approach understanding connections, and we can find ways to translate these methods and processes of thought over to many (if not, all) other displays of connection that are seemingly unrelated.
i’ve realized that i often times glorify perfect human connection, and this forces me to neglect entire aspects of my relationship with another person, work of art, myself, etc. i often times try to assign blame to myself, the other person, or both for the flaws that exist in the relationship, when in reality, trying to foster perfect connection is virtually impossible. we can get lucky in our lives and find people we “click” with, or overcome obstacles in our relationships that enables them to grow for the better, but what does it really mean to connect?
i feel that a connection isn’t just about similarities, but it’s also about the ways in which you challenge them and they challenge you; butting heads, trying to get past each other’s walls, the things we empathize with and the things we could never understand. it’s becoming increasingly interesting to think about in the context of 2020, and the ways in which i think about the people, institutions and systems (created by people) that harm people with my identities.
anyway — that’s all a part of it. that’s why i believe there are infinite ways to connect with someone or something. this concept gave way to this poem, in which i approach my relationship with my mom from a place i never have before with a experiences that i’ve ever thought about deeply until recently.
taken in the law quad last year. by me.
~~~~~~
the cramps come dance on my mama’s legs at night
setting light in her thighs, she stomps them out in the hallway.
when the cramps throw a dagger at her, my door flies
open. the bat signal we negotiated with having said nothing.
my hands pressure the bed. my hands, a servant to thee.
i came running from the shadows, the forest of my dreams
to hook my arm in yours in this hallway drenched in drowsy silhouettes and walk.
i pledge to rid the body of all that is wrong right next to you.
