my nerves electrified, attempt to jump ship with the slightest whisper of sound. it was only the air conditioner’s clack, clack, clacking into autopilot, though. nothing serious, you see. nothing like the spontaneous plummet of black bombs under their white orders, they shrieking hello as they drop in for an unwelcomed visit. again. and again. and again. and still more.
war. the only whisper heard there are the suffocated cries of the almost dead, the soft whimper of excruciating loss.
this is how i know i’m far from it. these nerves terrify easy.
what is it like to feel grave uncertainty?
your ever-rooted people
and your tortured borders,
are with me.
diagonally pierced heart
through the cage that holds it
eyes now the shape of pistachio
before they’re broken open
except these eyes already are
they pink instead of white
wet instead of dry
stomach compressed and coiled
maybe she entered there too
throwing this piece there
that piece where it never belonged
she lost something, i’m sure
or maybe it’s not her,
just something i ate
i’m familiar with pain again
not friends yet
no gifts exchanged
just getting reacquainted
i’m noticing pain,
she runs cold.
a smile on her face that’s no longer for you
chemical weapons kill over 600 people in syria today.
i dare you to watch the videos of rows of motionless brown children laying on cold dark cement floors in makeshift hospitals. i dare you to hear the screams of Allahu Akbar by husbands and sons clenching onto their dead loved ones. i dare you to witness a child convulsing attempting to live a little longer, to witness a young girl with white froth bubbling from her mouth and nostrils, to witness the lungs of all those half dead violently searching for breath.
what will it take for us, for me, for me, for fucking me, to forsake our comfort to really begin to be in solidarity with people trying so hard not to die? like getting in the street rather than posting shit on facebook, like intervening in public rather than creating “safe spaces”, like making war felt.
if we remain comfortable, we remain complicit.
“In two days, you and the rest of the world will forget about this massacre the same way you forgot about the rest that have happened over the last 2+ years in Syria.”
sometimes i can hear my soul gasping, exhausted because i pay it no attention.
heavy baggage under dropping eyes.
i wanna do everything but sit in silence, everything but get closer to insides.
it feels as if all of me is telling me not to. its ok, everything tells myself, you can miss just one more sit.
but it is my rebellious spirit, my forever guide (and misguide at times), that wants to disobey these posturings of support.
when i cease holding focus with my breath, when my thoughts, stories and imaginings begin to hold me instead, physical discomfort (and essentially most internal sensations-pleasant, neutral and unpleasant) cease to be noticed as well.
how often am i held by mental activity of what had once existed, can possibly exist or will exist, instead of feeling the seemingly imperceptible and constant change that drives my body and spirit?
how often do i use distraction as a method of leaning away from discomfort? when am i able to lean towards it?