As you will know if we are friends on social media, these past few weeks have been difficult on so many levels for the monsters that live in my head. My mental health seems to grow increasingly worse as the news becomes bleaker & bleaker, & perhaps that is why the ground feels too unsteady beneath my feet, no refuge to speak of. Last night I sat down to write a poem, & it was supposed to be sad & angry & hopeless, & instead it turned out sad & soft & hopeful. I think today is a good time to share it with you all, though it's certainly not the best one I've ever written. I hope it still rings true, though. A small reminder of the circular nature of this funny & terrible & gorgeous world in which we live, of how lucky we are to exist in this time even if we feel we'd rather be anywhere else.
Here's to a beginning & a middle & one beginning more, but not an end. Never an end.
—now this world, raw & hollow, opens itself into me.
This world in all its horror, in all its sorrow, in all
its blood & wreck & ache. This: the only world I
have ever known, & the ugliest, & the most beautiful.
This: the world it would be so easy for me to despise.
Through it all the sky sings above, empty & warm, aching
& tender. Through it all tsunamis, mythologies, children
laughing for the first time & couples kissing for
the last. One day they told me love had won, & the next
they told me love had died. & I spun on, breathed on.
Pieced it all together through grounded birds, through
so many tomorrows. & still I stood & inhaled,
& it tickled to be alive here, in this world that
has killed me so many times & saved my life
so many more. Here in this world where, even now,
the ghosts are quieting, only for new ones to rise.
I try to outlast myself but all I see is heart, so instead
here is a world full & shattered. Here I am, for better
or for worse. & here I fight & cry & fall in love
to the sound of every rain, every quiet, every light,
every cruelty & forgiveness, every fuel & flaw,
every future that will not get here fast enough,
to the sound of wars fought in the name of peace,
to the sound of still before the train comes,
to the sound of beginning again, & again, &—