when everything goes from sixty to zero in a single second
and the world is abruptly peaceful and calm
but your mind is endlessly turning
and your heart is wildly pumping your blood
how do you dissipate so much energy
and wrestle yourself
into stillness
it’s like running as fast as you can toward a brick wall
you see it coming and part of you is screaming stop
knowing you could wrench yourself off the path,
throw your body to the ground and feel your skin ripped apart by dirt and gravel
taking a little pain to avoid a lot
but another part of you is giddy at the thought
that you might break through the fucking wall and keep going,
red dust in your hair and red blood dripping down your face
a broken nose and scraped forearms and bloody knees
it’ll hurt like hell
but maybe it will be worth
what’s on the other side
there’s something about the late night quiet
that seeps into your skin
and fills you up from the inside out
sometimes it makes you burst
and you laugh harder than you knew you could
or you cry easier than you thought you would
and sometimes it opens your mouth
and pushes out words you could never say in daylight
ripping out secrets you swore you’d killed and buried
pushing them without grace into someone else’s hands
in the morning, you are peeled open and raw
the sunshine is too bright
the coffee too bitter
and it doesn’t matter if you laughed or you cried
your chest feels lighter
because part of you
is now missing
i want to smash a stack of expensive plates in the middle of the street
and run barefoot through the woods until I’m lost
i want to climb a tree until it sways
and sit there until I’m too cold to stand it
i want to throw rocks through abandoned window panes
and smoke cigarettes until i throw up all over my shoes
i want to drive to the middle of nowhere just to scream as loud as i can
then i’ll lay down in the dirt
and breathe
I feel like that washed out painting
you keep thinking about putting out on the curb
Or a pair of pants you used to love
that are miserably dated
An uncomfortably tight shirt
shoes a size too small
I can’t look at myself in the mirror
and it feels like I have vacated the building
How the hell do you find something
you never knew
you could lose?
the light filtering in through the window is bright and warm
it washes over my skin and seeps inside
making my eyes droopy and my muscles heavy
I lean against the glass
and close my eyes
and bask in the heat
but no matter how much I drink in
the sun goes down
and my bones are still cold
and my heart
beats a little slower
every day
when you get to the bottom of a big, tricky hill
and you have no idea
how the fuck you’re getting over it
take a deep breath
look it in the eye
and say, “eat my entire ass!”
then start climbing
because that’s the only way to get to the other side
reach out like you always have
stretch and wiggle your fingers as you search
feel the muscles in your arm become taut as you struggle
pushing with your shoulder, you try harder
and your muscles start to scream as you force them
to keep reaching, stretching further
to continue going forward, until
even your fingertips
vibrate with the strain
you reach out like you always have
but now, what you search for isn’t there
and no matter how much effort you expend
and no matter how many times you try
there is nothing
and you remain
empty
sometimes I think that poetry has to be big
that it needs to be existential or ground breaking
that it should be about one of the Big L’s:
life, liberty, love, loss
and that my dumb little poems aren’t poetry at all
but then I remember that in the end, everything’s fucking made up
from words to history to modern society
so I wrinkle my nose and write another stupid little poem
just because it makes me happy
it’s a glittering, slushy mess out there
white winter sunlight melts snow mounds into endless puddles
and snowmen into shapeless piles
it glimmers across snow packed by hundreds of feet
and sparkles through ice covered branches
the crowds shuffle silently
and the birds are all asleep
even the frigid winds have stopped whistling
but the quiet of this chilly morning
is broken
by the drip, drip, drip of dirty icicles
Cassie Writes 