#deadwatered

It’s 2020 now, and I still miss you

I miss your laugh and wonder if you still drink coffee

You changed my life in a million ways

you loved me in a million more

I don’t deserve your happiness

when I could have had it years ago

And I know you’re seeking your great perhaps

But I’ll look forward to someday

When I can see your smile

And share an overdue mug with you

fragments of rubies and sapphires // hnl 2020

Death and I haven’t spoken in a few years. Last I saw him, he was peering at me over my friends grandmothers shoulders the week before she passed. It’s here with me, she’d said sadly, and I smiled weakly because I knew it.

Now he sits near my own grandmother. She’s frail and the doctors aren’t making any promises. The rest of my family won’t look him in the eye. I greet him like an old friend.

“You look tired,” he says, and I nod.

“That’s because I am tired.” He gives me that sly smile.

“In a lot of different ways it seems.”

I want to roll my eyes, but he’s right. My soul hasn’t felt this heavy since I was 16. I sit next to my mawmaw as she sleeps.

“You’re not as afraid of me as you once were,” he says suddenly.

I shrug. “A lot’s changed I guess.”

“Has it? From the looks of it my dear, you’re a little worse for wear.”

I’m angry now. I wanna scream that he’s wrong, that I’m healed and I’ve aged like fine wine. But I look at my rib cage poking out and the dark circles under my eyes and I know he’s right.

“I’ll be seeing you.” He leaves in a hush. I look at my grandmother and realize with a familiar sting that I don’t know if he was talking about her or me.

honey don’t feed it, it will come back // hnl 2019

I imagine myself, healed

20 years from now

watering houseplants in the green room of my home

I imagine myself, healed

with no more tear tracks down my face

replaced with smile lines and crows feet

I imagine myself, healed

a child looks up at me beaming

asking if we can go down by the river later

On nights when it’s cold and dreary

I imagine myself, healed

and my heart radiates a warmth

no sadness can ever reach

a house with rose-red doors // hnl 2019

I was 16 years old // a little bird with no nest // or shelter from a storm // I’d been wandering a long time before I found them // my mother called them a den of foxes // wild and sinful // but they called me sister and sweet child // her mother taught me how to be a green witch // her father showed me how to change a tire // and her grandmother taught me how to spread my little wings again // I took to the skies years ago // been flying on my own for awhile // every now and then though, I visit my den of foxes // and they reteach this little bird what family is meant to be

thicker than water // hnl 2019

You were small, could fit in my child-like hands, and I remembered thinking of all the ways I could show you I loved you.

You were sick and covered in sores and fleas. They did not care for you the way they had promised. You shook uncontrollably when I had to give you several baths and medicine. I didn’t even have time to feel sorry for you, I just wanted you to be better.

You cried for 6 days straight. Every night when I turned off the light and put you in your bed, you’d whine so much that my father would come downstairs just to yell at both of us, which never stopped anyone from crying. It wasn’t until I gave in and put you in my bed that I understood that you just wanted to sleep on my chest.

You were unhappy when I had to move away from home. Mom said that you didn’t eat most of the time and you slept in my room where my bed used to be. I tried to see you as much as I could, but I regretted leaving you every single day. When I looked for another apartment, I made it clear that you would be with me.

Now we sit outside together and you are in my lap, staring at everyone walking past us. I think of all the nights that I hoped you were happy. I think of my 3 am crying fits that you always comforted me through.

We are finally together and at peace. I hold you in my aging hands. I think of all the ways I can love you.

-bijou // hnl 2019

I bought a houseplant last month

small, unknowing; it’s a new beginning for us both

my love, he used to tell me I had the worst green thumb

that I over-water and over-trim the leaves

you care too much he’d whisper

I used to believe that too 

Today my plant sprouted a new flower 

joining her various sisters into this strange world

and I wish I could show him how wrong he was

he never watched me bloom this way

never took the time to water my leaves

or appreciate how well I’m growing  

I’m starting to understand that maybe

he didn’t know me as well as he said he did  

he never did// hnl 2018

My sister had her last baby today. She waited the whole nine months to find out the gender, much to my mother’s dismay. I bought her baby clothes that were grays and blues and greens, not caring about who it would be. Love can always be felt for others, even at nine months away.

As a half-assed writer, I have to think about my sister when she had my niece 8 years ago. She was living in our parents house and dealing with the awful reality of a man that wasn’t ready to be a father, and parents that still weren’t ready to be parents. I remember being 13 and so afraid for her, going to the library at lunch and reading up on affordable housing and food stamps and child birth. I wrote her thousands of notes with words of encouragement before she went to work everyday. It was always like that between she and I, taking care of each other in our own ways.

Our mother was checked out back then, so my sister made it her own job. She taught me how to tie my shoes and make myself breakfast. She showed me how style my hair and my favorite Maroon 5 songs. She was rebellious and I wanted to be her so badly. The “I love you’s” came easy. We were each other’s first example of unconditional love.

I’m 22 now and she’s 30. We’ve grown up in separate ways and things aren’t as black and white as they used to be. She’s got her own little family and a peace about her that’s unfamiliar. I’m just starting to figure out my own worth and place in this universe. A few months back, she told me that she knew she wanted to be a mom when I was born. She said that I always told her that she was special and that she was beautiful, and even on the bad days, she kept going for me and our other siblings. I’d never known that until now.

My sister had her last baby today. I feel complete in knowing that I was her first.

to Alyssa, the best mom I’ve known // hnl 2020

As August slips away

into changing leaves and coffee stains

life is different as the sun sets earlier

each and every day

you and I have changed like seasons

but there’s still a home

in your clear eyes

and my rusting Chevy

thank you for always finding me

every time I wanted you to

15, 18, 22 // hnl 2020

Oh, it never mattered to me anyway

don’t cry me a river

just to wash me down the drain

notthing mattered, nothing earned or gained

everything to lose on a hot summer day

-

maybe it’s time to let go

of what wasn’t meant to stay

girl on fire, whispers the universe

you’re gonna light up rooms with your smile

everything mattered,

every blood stain

every masarca trail down your face

there’s no better place, I’d like to imagine

spit out the bitter taste

at least it happened

poetry on the front porch step // hnl 2020

Dear future,

how are you?

Did you ever paint the north wall

in the living room

and how’s that pesky rose bush growing?

I know you like to take care of things,

even if they’re beyond your help

I hope you learned how to embroider

like we wanted

and I hope your Wednesday nights are full

of laughter and sweet memories

I hope your strength is unwavering,

your smile lines deeper than ever before

and hey, did you ever get the paint stain

out of the carpet? I can’t for the life of me

but I know we’re persistent

I know you have the power to do whatever

we desire

I won’t keep you any longer,

I know you’re busy moving up

and far beyond the grief I carry now

It goes without saying but

all your past selves and I are so proud of you

and I hope you finally understand

how loved you are

how amazing you are

Take care;

I can’t wait to meet you

love, me // hnl 2020

Breathe in, breathe out

some days it’s harder to remember

that this is my body, my lungs

that no one has control over me

but me

Breathe in, breathe out

I reflect on what triggers me

and try to let go of whatever has a hold

on my spirit

sometimes the anger is so overwhelming

Breathe in, breathe out

my mind is in a healthier place

my inner child is healing as I write this

she reminds me that these feelings will pass

as long as I

breathe in, breathe out

what makes you angry? // hnl 2020

The tarot deck speaks to me-

major arcana; the fool

I thought you’d understand by now

that the universe

ebbs and flows

karma comes back in threes, dear jester

are you absolutely sure

that you’re ready to reap

what you’ve sown?

I can forget, but the universe won’t // hnl 2020

I had a dream that I was talking to god in a greenhouse.

I walked around for awhile until I came to a stairwell that lead to what looked like the Garden of Eden, only darker. I started making my descent when a voice boomed overhead.

“You may ask me one question.”

I stalled for a second. My belief in god wavered over the last 5 years. The only spirituality I felt came from my own existence. Still, I wondered. I continued stepping.

“Who is my soulmate? Is that easy enough for you?”

I smiled like a jackass and looked towards the garden, hoping I’d see the face of the person who was meant for me. Suddenly everything in the room went dark. The flowers in bloom wilted and the steps started to disappear underneath me. The handrails I was grasping onto coiled like snakes and wrapped around me with a vengeance. I was lifted up towards the only light left in the room, a sunroof. The rails wrapped around my neck and I started to cry. The voice returned, but it sounded angry.

“That was the wrong question. You don’t have one.”

I woke with a start and realized that I had been crying. As I calmed myself down, I looked at my hands and feet. The realization started to flow through me like water.

I am meant for me, no one else. Maybe not even god.

the dream I had on Wednesday // hnl 2020

There are some days that I’m angry for not being soft and admirable. I wish I were the type of girl who is made from sunshine and a warm breeze. I wish that with each step I take, I leave a mess of wildflowers behind me.

But I am a girl made from thunderstorms and peach pits. I am empty wine bottles and broken bones. My soul has a few cracks, but I am not shattered. There is power in my voice and song, and while I may not leave behind flower petals, my footsteps are not ignored.

No, I am not a girl made of sugar and spice. But I am made of scraped knees, innocent “I love you’s,” and a starlight that can’t be touched.

wilting roses, steel cores // hnl 2020

Today, I didn’t think of you when I woke up. Today, when something funny happened, I didn’t reach for my phone to call you. Today I looked in the mirror and realized that it’s possible to love my life the way that it is. Today was the first time in a long time that I felt alive.

today, yesterday, tomorrow// hnl 2020

Her eyes held malice when she looked at me; her mouth told lies and took advantage of my naivety. This is wrong, I think. This hurts, I think. This is going to break my heart. I still cry when she leaves.

the girl with a chip on her shoulder// hnl 2020

I can remember thinking ‘this place doesn’t feel like a home.’ The lobby of the building was barren except for a sleepy security guard who didn’t even acknowledge the slam of the door as it shut behind us and I noticed that despite the space’s expansiveness, there wasn’t any furniture. No uncomfortable sofas or coffee-stained end tables typical for most lobbies belonging to apartment buildings. Not so much as a fake plant in sight. The lighting in the corridors and the strange-smelling lift was so harsh and unforgiving on the eyes that I felt like a fly lying dead in one of those Eazyzap bug traps, still twitching from the shock of the electricity. I was almost sober by the time we got up to their apartment so when I was offered a shot of vodka I accepted it like a dehydrated dog might accept water from a puddle during a walk. It singed my throat on the way down and I had to fight not to retch from the aftertaste. 

I had met these people not even two hours before at a bar; my friends already knew them but I was a neophyte, a stranger to their many charms: Casey’s overbearing presence that infuriated me even more than the sound of his voice, so smooth that I couldn’t help but be entranced by it despite every part of me screaming that it was all a lie. Matthew’s scruffy long hair and wire frame glasses that reminded me of a book character I’d fallen in love with more times than I could even count, his shit-eating grin that made you feel like you were in on some private joke of his. Fraser’s backwards ball cap (because that’s always been a weak spot of mine) and a sadness so whole within him that I could feel it from the other side of the room, a sadness so whole that I could hear it through his contagious laugh.

Their apartment was on the top floor of the block - an alien space that felt more like being stuck in a hidden pocket of time - and one side of the kitchen was all windows that offered us a panoramic view of the London skyline. The alcohol and whatever we had smoked on the way over had gone straight to my head and staring at the view felt more like staring into a giant snow globe I’d found in one of those shitty gift shops in Leicester Square. My head was spinning in a good way and everything had this undeniable realness to it, like someone had taken a pen and given everything a bold outline. Even the floor had a life of its own. I had to sit down. I perched next to Matthew. We gazed out of the window, pointed out Tower Bridge and the London Eye and he gave me a gummy worm that wasn’t just a gummy worm. It tasted like TV static and made the glands in the side of my neck tingle and just by looking at him I knew that our souls were one in the same. 

We had one of those conversations that you can only have while intoxicated, the kind where you discuss parallel universes, protagonist theory and mental illness. Fraser told me that he did cocaine because he was addicted to it. Matthew replied matter-of-factly that he did cocaine to feel like a rockstar, and that pretty much sums up humans, don’t you think? We do things to feel like something else or just anything at all. 

That’s why I was there. Because it felt like something.