Sunday, January 7, 2018

Engulfed in loss

You were thrashing in the water, gasping for air and clawing at the waters surface. You were drowning and coughing and gasping, the gasping scared me the most. The water was the sea and it was bigger than me and I just stood and watched you. Watched you fight to live. I couldn't do anything else. I was standing on the surface, panicking, yelling your name. Screaming over the sound of the waves smacking the shoreline and against my legs. I was screaming so hard my throat was burning and my voice was turning raspy and soon enough it turned into a whisper. You were sinking now, going down deep into the abyss slowly. You stopped thrashing. You stopped the terrible gasping noises that made my heart thump against the outside layers of my chest. You were gone. Just like that. Something bigger took you from me. Something scarier. Something more powerful than I had ever been. I stood at the waters edge and watched for a sign you were still out there. Nothing. No sign. Just the sound of the waves smacking the shoreline and roaring like a caged animal. I woke up sweaty and heaving, crying, my throat sore. It was the first dream I had about losing you and it would be the last. You were gone. Life took you from me when I needed you the most and I could do nothing but watch. This life was the sea and there's not a damn thing I could do but watch you drown in it. -M.D.L.

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

A Self-Defined Hit of Hurricane

I woke up one Sunday morning to his face lying next to mine and I Wondered if this was really my life. He was like an angel, sleeping softly, eyes closed and arms draped around his face. Sometimes life shocks you and you forget its yours. Have you ever had that happen? Wake up with a stranger in your bed and realize its the love your life, not a stranger at all. Life has a way of knocking you on your knees and having you wish you were praying. He came into my life like a hurricane. Tore things up, rearranged things. He was not a bad hurricane, he lifted up roots that I had in the ground for far too long. He made me escape the only home I have ever known, the one I call my own snail shell. I never met a soul like him, so reckless, wild, passionate. Waking up to him has felt like a dream ever since, a dream I have yet to wake up from. So many days I sat next to him laughing until I cried, drinking until I threw up. Crying until I couldn't anymore. I guess that is what love is... or so that is what I am told. I have come to the conclusion that love is your own story to tell. Some people call fighting at two a.m. love and are happy with that, and to some being held during a candlelight dinner is love. Pick your poison... I sure picked mine and it was him. It was always him. Love chooses you I fear. Whatever fucked up version of love that chooses you is just yours and there is no way of describing it any differently. Love is not for your choosing, you fall into it and come to the conclusion that its love. No one gets to describe that for you. I describe love as him, this angel, this soul firing man. I dont know what else to call him but just that. I dont want to say that I knew I loved him from the start or that when I first saw him, I knew. I did not get heart eyes when he walked into a room. I did not drool when I first saw him. I was curious about him sure, but no one can say that I was love struck, that cupids arrow hit me and that I knew then. I fear that love does not happen like that. It happens when you least expect it, when you are drowning in life, when it couldn't come at a worse time. It shows up and it knocks hard at your door and doesn't take no for an answer. Love fights for you. It fights tooth and nail and scratches at your back when you ignore it. It does not let you go, it grabs a hold of your heart and tugs until you give in. This is how I met him. This is how I fell in love four years later. Love is a battlefield like Cyndi Lauper said, but not quite the one she described. Love is a battlefield in the fact that it always. fucking. wins. I fought it for four years. I wanted nothing to do with needing it, with wanting it. I was blowing it off but it still showed up. Now here I am, every Sunday morning rolling over to this human that calls himself mine. That is the thing about love that I dont think people expect, its not always the expected. It is not under your control it is wild untamed and comes in all forms. I roll over to his face on Sunday mornings and I have never been more grateful in my life. I did not hunt for love, I did not wish for it every single day. I was terrified to care about another human being that much yet there he was. Love is not yours to define. It is its own element and it will find you when its ready. You cant have one definition for love, for its anyone's game but you can fall head first into what you think it is blindly and take the shot at it. What do you have to lose? Isn't that what we all want anyways, a self defined hit of hurricane? -M.D.L

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

The Moon and Your Tidal Waves.

Do you stare at the same moon? I wonder this as I sit looking out my bedroom window. That's the thing that makes missing someone so painful, the unknown. I am unsure if our moon is still the same one or if you still sleep with a fan on and your shirt off,sweating small beads of salt. Distance creates spaces between two hearts that were once inseparable. What a cruel joke the world would play on two souls. I howl at my moon and curse it for convincing the tides to take you away. I blame anything but myself for you leaving, I think that is a human thing to do. We cannot take responsibility for something that gave us such gut wrenching pain. Admitting this defeat would be saying that we are the cause of our own destruction. But we are. I am. I did this and I wouldn't know how to pretend any different. I wonder if you stare at the same moon and find yourself cursing it too. Do you blame yourself? For the loss of a love? For the loss of an us? Its always the unknown that haunts us. We are trying to understand why. Try to put a concrete reason on why things so delicate and vibrant get destroyed. What if things just are. There is no reason why. There is no grand story of lust and pain. It just is what it is. An unknown opportunity shared between two different moons. A catastrophic destruction that had to be done with or without our help. There is no explaining that which is not meant to be understood. We can curse our moons together but still be worlds apart. Nothing will change that. Some things are meant to be whole and some things are meant to be broken. I dont think the moon, you, or I has much control over that. I will let my moon wash you away with the tides. You were never mine to keep anyway. It is what it is. -M.D.L

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

The devils advocate

You can't barter with the devil while your laying next to her. The vodka you have in your hand makes everything a blur. You take a sip and give it another stir. It's a man made drink to ease your pain. Looking in your eyes, that's all you have gained. Pain seeps through every single pore you have, your flesh is now stained. You reek of booze, thinking that this is the only thing left you have to choose. It's okay darling, you only have everything to lose. You can't barter with the devil while your laying next to her, for loneliness there is no cure. -M.D.L

Friday, June 9, 2017

Mental Health

My ears are ringing loud and true to remind me of all the things I didn't do. I didn't tell you I was sorry even though I knew. My ears are ringing, I should have sat down within your pew. So you could tell me all that you have been through. I didn't listen even though there were so many cues. I sat alone by myself while the pain inside you grew. I'm sorry brain, I didn't listen even though you were so blue. I ignored what you told me like I didn't have a clue. My ears are ringing, to remind me that deep down it's stinging. I didn't know brain that it was only pain that I was bringing. -M.D.L 

Thursday, May 25, 2017

World destruction

I sit 

and sip on my morning coffee while there are people being murdered all around the world. Everywhere is an ocean of red that our society is drowning in. The pools of blood are up to our eyeballs and pretty soon my coffee will taste like death too. How many lives does it take? How many deaths justify killers? The only thing being proven is that we are the monsters in our story books that we read to our children as we tuck them into bed. We are not the great species who will make earth better. We are the people who murder all living things (even each other) for the sake of something to prove. We will all be bodies on the ground before someone starts choosing life over ego. This sea of blood is not the answer, and I am sick of drowning in it.  -M.D.L

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

what is a quarter and a piece of gum worth?

Loving you is easy. I slip into something vulnerable and wrap my hands around your neck, rubbing our hearts against each other. It's funny that the most vulnerable part of your body is in the front of you, where others can touch it. It's like you made an incision on the skin barricade around my heart and pulled it to the surface through the hole you made in my chest for examination. You held my heart in your hands and kissed it gently and I never asked for it back. Loving someone is easy, it's the giving of your own soul, your insides that is hard. People take pieces and fragments of who you are and shove them in their pockets where the fall out during their morning run. That's what you did, took small fragments of who I was and scattered them umongst the black pavement like rose pettles in a wedding. I had parts and what were once wholes missing where I used to be complete. You no longer kissed my heart gently, you neglected it slowly so I asked for it back. You no longer had it. You sold it to the boy down the street for a quarter and a piece of gum. I forgot that I was supposed to protect the one thing that was important to me. I forgot to tell myself how important I was, to never let my guard down. Instead I sold my heart and soul to you for nothing. I have never been good at bargaining... losing everything for what I thought was something.