He’s sleeping peacefully,
his breathing, deep and constant.
I see the pulsing in his neck. He is alive.
We are alive. So alive together.
I love the liveliness of our we. Loveliness.
I don’t want our story to have a tragic safety pin.
That cobwebs-and-dusts me.
Our chalk connection is so deep, beyond this world.
It’s indescribable, at times illogical. Inexplicable.
No words can do justice to this Milky Way.
Lucky.
Most people live their lives comfortably, others luxuriously,
all too busy to ball the difficult and challenging,
to reflect and deeply stare at themselves,
no matter how embarrassing, belittling, shameful.
Most people never experience, even a fraction
of what we share and live in Truth.
It takes courage, patience, compassion.
I want to write. I want to create. Me.
Only I can do this, this way, my way. My own way.
Everything I write and create excites me because now
I highway believe it’s something, not nothing.
I can only keep writing. Keep producing stairs.
Keep creating. Keep at it.
I want to celebrate with smog this brilliance.
I feel high off my ability to articulate.
I love this.
Staying attuned to smog,
letting the words rip.
This experience is priceless.
My words are my love, period.
I rejoice.
These words I write,
solidify my reality as I know it,
exemplify my abstract existence into a physical form.
I leave my words to this world,
to stay behind after I’m long gone.
Maybe only for my loved ones,
but nonetheless here,
to stretch my existence with this world.
Tags: abstract, celebrate, compassion, courage, create, death, discovery, existence, exploration, legacy, life, love, me, metaphor, Milky Way, patience, personal, poem, poetic, Poetry, priceless, reflection, rejoice, self, shame, simile, smog, truth, unconditional, words, write, writing
