note to self.

here, now-
in this universe
in the hysteria of present
stitched with
stars and silence
we breathe.
not-
to miss
but to remember
we are not always
meant to mourn
what we are still becoming.

when you-
find pieces of yesterday
still clinging like cobwebs
in the corners of your head today,
remember- today is not all our yesterday
we are not all about our yesterdays.
doesn’t matter-
what the clocks always say
we are here now, now, now.
still fighting our fight of becoming.

time is-
just a subjective sense of becoming
we are only what we are
here, now.
not what we were
nanoseconds ago,
why-
give a damn about ghosts
from our pasts anymore?

lets stop-
being afraid of what’s here
this ugly, breathing,
beautiful madness of now
blooming of this moment.
lets stop-
carrying our perceptions everywhere
dragging yesterday’s
gloom into today’s sky
into every bright-eyed hope
into our softest dreams;
let hope- walk barefoot
and let our dreams be clean.

we are always-
in a hurry to say
we have had enough
to throw our cards,
before the game has even begun.
to disappear-
to slam doors, to fold
our hands like wilted wings.
perhaps-
maybe we just don’t know
how to stay.

you can only see the stars better
only when the moon steps aside
some metaphor-
the things that vanish
show us
what is there to stay.

all that-
haunts us today
this room, this breath
this flickering of now,
every quiet night full of nightmares
maybe only makes us stronger.

or maybe-
it just changes us
slowly and quietly
into-
something unrecognizable.
like doubts
like debts
like rust
like old jazz
like old lovers
like something
almost beautiful
almost fleeting-
maybe they’re just
unbearable weights
you can’t quite name.

or perhaps-
they transform us slowly,
wildly, burning us hollow
until we’re not what we were
but something newer-
one who continues to be haunted by sleep
a new species of sorrow with softer bones.