Member-only story
relief
posting a poem i wrote when i was hurting now that i am healing.
temporary is temporary is temporary
unless you are like me in which case
it is not.
i am more distraught
than the astronaut
in outer space.
my head is not a place
that you would ever want
to build a home.
explain to me
like x like y like z
how this is temporary.
i am with my brain until my
body is not and even then
everything is permanent.
the imprints,
their fingerprints;
my head is a misfit —
nobody knows the gravity
yet they try to induce a remedy.
temporary is temporary is temporary
until your life is mine.
nothing that has hurt has ever stopped
and i wish everyone would stop
trying to convince the hurting
that the hurt might stop.
what happens when it
does not? mine has not.
temporary is hope that
permanence is a telescope
as if our spot in space
as the human race
is deserving of something
nothing else experiences
— relief.
