I'M DOING WELL
by Poetic.Porsche
Dear Mom,
I’m 28 and there is a picture of you and I hanging on my bedroom mirror.
It’s been eight months now.
Since I held your hand and I told you I will be here until the end.
And the sun,
The sun still rises and sets on my flesh and your bones just like God promised us.
The moon and tears seem to be the only thing that makes my skin glisten these days. But your baby girl is still here standing.
Since you’ve been gone I’ve gone through two therapist, two cars, two months of not working, and countless heartbreaks and sleepless nights.
I often wonder if you heard the last I love you before your soul soared away.
And how was the journey to heaven because I’m only 28
and I’m just trying to find the easiest way
Can you help me?
I’m here standing
Standing in this mirror trying to decide on if I should put on my biggest smile today.
Mom I ran into a girl who looks just like me the other day. She watched her moms soul slip away. She asked me how I was doing. And instead of smiling saying I’m ok. I let the silence between us lead the way.
Is this the part where I should smile anyway?
But I’m still here standing in this mirror with my thoughts on replay.
Can someone tell me if I’ve crashed yet
It’s been eight months and I’m only 28
Eight months of my bones signing up for something my heart can not take. My hair is fragile and my skin is pale. I’ve been in this house for days.
Standing in this mirror trying to find a way.
And truthfully Mom my spirit breaks every time I write you and goodbye is the only thing left to say.
But if anyone ask I’ll tell them. I’m doing well
P.S. I’m not ok
8/8/22
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En Gratitud
I've been meaning to
saunter my way back to this space
but I always hesitate-
Mostly because I have everything
yet nothing I want to say
and I'm often afraid of the words
my brain amalgamates in haste.
But, whoever you are
wherever you are
whatever you aren't-
You are appreciated.
The knowing that on any given day
an unknown person out there
might be reading these poems I write
as an act of radical self-love, self-care,
healing, resistance, resurrection,
both medicine and illness,
but mostly in hopes to understand
and be understood
could be out there understanding
and being understood too
helps me to feel I have done more
than merely exist.
For that feeling,
I am immensely grateful.
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I am proudest as a guest
when I am unwanted
I refuse to pluck my eyes out like a plume from ink,
letting my eyelids become black-out curtains.
I’ll gargle the blood rising from the incision through my larynx and let sound waves out when I am to quiet down. Sirens for the apocalypse to some,
I’ll hope against all odds the ships set up to sail will have no lighthouse and I will be all storm.
I’ll unwind the stitch, a tick dug into my pliable grey matter until I find the bomb and speed up the process.
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