heartbreak and cigarettes

Tag: prose

  • The seasons.

    The seasons.

    The seasons.

    Throughout the seasons,
    the leaves on a tree
    change
    one by one.

    Winter, spring, summer, and fall,
    and back again.

    In winter,
    the barren branches frost over,
    covered in crystals,
    and slumbering to survive
    in the darkness.

    In spring,
    gradual thawing
    leads to growth.
    The blossoming begins,
    sap seeps through the cracks.

    Expanding,
    Thriving,
    Feeding,
    Feasting.
    Opening to the sun,
    dancing in the rain.

    In summer,
    the leaves laugh –
    tickled by the wit of the wind
    breezing by
    and reaching up to the light
    in a mutual embrace.
    Basking,
    Glowing,
    Giving and receiving.

    In autumn,
    the preparation begins.
    Storing nutrients and
    cutting off leaves.
    Each turning colors,
    then spiraling from sky to soil,
    performing its grand finale.

    Gradually,
    the tree fortifies itself
    and lays down to rest.
    And then,
    the frosting and slumbering
    begins again.

    Our bodies are like nature
    with the intelligence and wisdom of trees.
    All of our parts
    sensing and feeling the time.
    Responding,
    Working,
    Sharing,
    Expanding and contracting,
    Sleeping.

    And still,
    every time the season turns,
    we panic as though we’ve never
    been through this
    dozens of times.

    But we have –
    We’ve simply
    forgotten.
    Since,
    like the trees,
    the seasons
    keep us
    brand new.

    “The seasons.” – bem

  • Today, you are born.

    Today, you are born.

    Today, you are born.
    Everything has re-created itself for you.
    And in response,
    All there is to do is love.

    Inhaling, exhaling.
    Eyes cracked open for the first time,
    Seeing:
    the world for the first time.
    Your mother, your father,
    Your sister, your brother.
    Yourself –
    for the first time.
    Him, her, us, them – all.

    The dense blades of lush green grass
    and blazing canary yellow sunlight.
    Cool, cerulean skies
    dotted with shape shifting cotton candy clouds.

    Wind rushing toward your fresh face,
    Glittering ocean waves.
    Entire bodies of water
    re-created for you
    to love for the first time.

    The feeling of cool, gritty sand
    slipping through your clenched fists,
    shifting underneath the weight of your feet.

    The first time you heard a crack of thunder,
    Shivered in the rain,
    Then tasted a warm strawberry sunset.
    Experiencing it all today
    For the first time.

    And in response,
    All there is to do is love.
    Inhaling, exhaling.
    Until you lay down for another rest.

    Until, again, the opportunity presents itself –
    Born again, to another new day.
    The world re-creates itself for you.
    And you awaken, and crack your eyes open,
    To love it all again,
    Like it’s the first time.

    “Today, you are born.” – BEM

  • The ledge.

    The ledge.

    The most fearful moment is
    when we stand on that ledge
    looking down below
    from the airplane
    cliff
    diving board.

    Butterflies in your stomach
    Life flashing before your eyes
    Like film,
    polaroids,
    stills.

    But the weird thing about it is
    If we never took that leap of faith,
    Swallowed that ball in our throats,
    Ignored the butterflies
    and the adrenaline that made our
    blood pump and hearts race like hell,

    There would be no highlight reel
    8×10 glossies
    Instagram feed
    of memories
    Flashing through our minds.

    And so, as we go on,
    There will always be that new moment,
    Dying for its place on the reel.
    And the only thing that allows it to happen
    Is that same moment
    In different places
    At different times
    On different ledges

    Where we find ourselves
    Feeling that screaming feeling
    Between fear and courage.

    Mocking you,
    Taunting you,
    Because oftentimes what looks and feels like falling down
    Is really a jolt up
    Into that sparkling, crackling, newness,

    And the look down is merely
    A reminder
    of what you’ve accomplished
    Lying beneath you, behind you, underneath you.
    Supporting you
    As you stand tall,
    preparing to skyrocket forward.

    Screaming
    between clenched teeth,
    eyes,
    fists
    Into that sparkling, crackling, newness.

    “The ledge” – BEM

  • compassion is self care

    When I touch myself,

                I touch the world.

    When I love myself,

    I love the world.

    When I respect myself,

    I respect the world.

    When I love myself,

    I love the world.

    If eternity is within

    a grain of sand,

    All of humanity

    is within itself.

    My neighbor is my mirror.

    I look into his eyes

    and I see myself.

    When I speak to my sister,

    I hear myself.

    Self-love, self-care, self-respect

    are all just an act of

    community service.

    When I love myself,

    I love the world.

    When I love the world,

    I love myself.

    “compassion is self care” – BEM

  • The magic of darkness.

    Yesterday, I woke up a caterpillar.

    Lazily slugging along

    through the autumn leaves.

    Nibbling and grazing,

    Plumping and lengthening.

     

    Accustomed to life on earth,

    Contented and ever looking forward

    To what met me next

    On that damp, solid ground.

     

    Then, the time

    And instinct came.

    “Rise higher.”

    So I climbed the tree,

    Created a new home for myself

    Until I was surrounded in that silken,

    Darkened womb.

     

    Topsy-turvy,

    Upside down.

    Suspended in mystery.

     

    Then came time,

    Instinctively,

    To digest myself

    In that magical soup.

    Upside down,

    All my experiences

    Encased in silk

    Breaking down and reforming

    While the world steadily turned around me,

    I patiently waited within myself

    To see how I

    Reformed.

     

    And instinctively,

    I emerged –

    My old home no longer fit.

    Suffocated –

    I broke out.

    Still emerging,

    The world still turning around me,

    Urging

    “Go higher.”

    Shaking off these new things –

    Wings.

    I’m beckoned

    “Fly.”

    And so, I do.

     

    And when it’s time,

    You, too, will know

    Instinctively

    That it’s time to grow

    Encased within yourself

    All that you’ve consumed.

    Marinating,

    Breaking down,

    Reforming.

    In that magical, mystical

    Darkness.

    Until you’re beckoned

    To the light

    When your old home

    Is outgrown.

     

    You, too, will fly

    Into that same sky,

    Occasionally noticing

    A little something

    Slugging along, lazing along

    Down below.

    Satisfied with solid ground

    Lazing along the dirt

    And nibbling leaves

    Not yet knowing the nectar

    Of the beautiful flowers and that blissful freedom

    That awaits you

    In your new home

    In the sky.

     

    The magic of darkness. – BEM