Arctic Remembrance

It’s funny how you forget when you meet people. I don’t remember meeting my best friends. I don’t remember the first time I saw him. I don’t remember what I thought. On FaceTime. In person. None of it.

It’s funny how you remember the things people say. I remember “I am literally obsessed with you.” “Let’s have kids. A house in Virginia”. I remember “marry me”. In bed. Outside. Drunk. All of it.

It”s funny how you remember the way people make you feel. I remember sadness. I remember manic episodes, depression. “I would find you attractive, but I just can’t get passed some features”. I remember love. Inside. Outside. All of it.

It”s funny how it ends. Talking. Analyzing. “I am bad for your mental health”. “I love you. Always”. I don’t remember enough. But I remember all of it.

I wish we had more time to remember.

My Inferno

That I would hang myself in the sky outside your window

and slowly reach my hand out to the sun,

claiming its fire as my own.

One more bright star in your sky,

a bloody inferno.

So that when you look out,

there is one more small piece of joy.

I am all I have

to give.

Him

He is the sea and I am the shore.

He flows as wild and free as the white-capped waves

and I, as confined and unmoving as the stagnant land

He is the sky and I am the earth.

He soars as swiftly and unpredictably as the mischevious wind

and I, as compact and caged as the senile platelets.

He is the moon and I am the sun.

He changes as constantly and distinctly as the waxing moon

and I, as alone and consistent as the daily sun.

He is the soul and I am the body.

He feels as deeply and richly as his wild spirit

and I, as lifeless and shallow as my earthbound corpse.

Dead Poets Society

First there was the new kid

Thoughtful, logical, and shy.

He dreamt of a sweaty toothed madman

His YAWP rang through the sky

Next there was his roommate

The passionate, dreaming Puck.

He tried to live his dream, but

His father kept him stuck

Then there was the lover,

Persistent, brave, and kind.

He read her poems and brought her flowers,

He refused to leave her behind.

Fourth, there was the giant,

With an unfortunate name.

A man with a love of music,

Bound in a literal frame.

Nuwanda, the next boy,

Overflowed with confidence.

He talked to God once or twice,

And rushed to his friends’ defense.

The traitor of the group,

Crowned with the fires of hell,

Turned on friends to save himself,

Nuwanda wished him well.

Last there was the Captain,

The wisest of them all.

He taught them to be extraordinary,

His teaching brought his fall.

And so the Dead Poets Society

Was convened so all could say

“Make your lives extraordinary!

Carpe Diem! Seize the day!”

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