anything is who i am

the night was long, the morning came and the night went on. a little bird sat in the corner of the cage looking down, from a branch that once felt like an arm. my little far reaching hands. a prayer in the dark, summoned like a flick of the switch. but it was all artificial and i was inside. doing my time. it’s all in your head, the choice is yours wingless girl. but i know he’s wrong. the silence inside has no birds. a song, i could pretend. crouched near my kill, eating its brains. a heart held in my palms. and the beat just went on. i could bite but i don’t. i sit describing it all, watch the ticking. how even the shadows can’t remain. not in a night, moonless and echoing. the morning slipped in and nobody noticed. i knew it was all as fake as it gets. me, yes me in the mirror. against a black and shapeless face. yes, i imagine she looks like that. she looks how she feels. when those images rise, like in dreams and in lies- nobody cared to document the facts as they stood. she therefore fell to her knees, over the dead body, crying to be taken. but i was the one holding its empty heart. i was the one who stopped eating and stood crouched over death like i was its elusive child lover. i have no idea what’s going on. all these cages, boxes, pages, stolen identities. misrepresentations. pathetic tinfoil demons who think they’re my friends. once i was told i could be the queen of the damned. i told myself that in the black faceless shapeless mirror that hides deep inside. and we laughed. we laughed and we laughed like cackling creatures. i’ve only ever felt power momentarily. at moments like this with your head in my hand. a heart drops like a fly that got zapped. this electrical storm that surrounds me can destroy the entire sky of its inhabitants. this long night that pretends it’s today. it’s a joke. all you takers. positive thinkers. healthy eaters. fearful beasts. i am inside on this branch, caged and forgetting which way is up anymore.

and like my destroyer i talk up a storm. riddles, puddles of blood. left over bones. what do you think you’re doing, they’re all dead anyway. the key, the key. nobody locks anybody in. so all these characters flutter and slither within me. being hunted by the other me, the one that i can’t see. but she’s got your number. like a flag she keeps waiving. like a horse race in the jungle. like a sea full of drowning birds. there is inevitably -eventually the juncture. where she sits, very flexible and stretching. i wait, here i wait. with snakes sewn into my hair, with scorpions embedded into my eyes. with a head that’s no longer attached but keeps watching, for the one who holds my heart to come searching, deeper. where we meet in little hells and big valleys. down lower where even god fears to go. at the crossing of the black night and the bleeding sun. i float like an angel whose gone completely insane. as if i decide how heaven goes. in this realm of many me’s- anything is who i am. sharada devi

7 thoughts on “anything is who i am”

  1. Blue, broken and not known. The beating heart that was told, it was a mistake, floats away. Nothing matters until the return. Even the drift away
    The day that was brightest at night, was told it wasn’t coming.
    And made to happen, it began, just like every day. Like the little bird not seen until the quiet morning, it cracks.
    and every time it’s heart breaks, or beats, or lies down to sleep. There is one song left- the one who waits
    -to fly and love again as the one from nothing. Transformed invisible.
    Who can see inside this breath, beat and moment.
    Find in that hand, you feel… Open to the black sky. How can a bird rise but for you, who is
    risen. Waiting,
    below the weight of a dream.

    1. I hold the weight of this dream on my finger and I watch it sing it’s little song,
      about God and where to find her…

      about love and growing wings.

  2. rain falls
    hour after hour
    devouring the thirsty earth
    mesmerizing the local spiders
    herding them towards the in of doors
    slyly sliding into hiding places while i slumber
    eight legged vampires kiss in the midst of dreams
    nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot

    1. I used to be afraid of spiders until things got put in perspective – until nothing else mattered but my fear’s allegiance to death herself…

      1. I’m not really afraid of spiders, I usually pick them up and carry them outside. But they sure do
        enjoy the taste of my blood and take every opportunity to get me when I’m not looking.
        My deepest fears are more irrational. Things that seem absurd to most people.
        I think it comes from memories of past lives. The weird things that trigger a memory.
        Which I guess is all about fear of a return to suffering. ?
        The fear of re-experiencing past life suffering. Even though I don’t remember the actual death.

  3. I am the spider. Please dont kill me. Wishing I was outside. But paralyzed. Like an invisible alien shadow sitting on my chest. Beautiful

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