Survive: Collected Poems

Memories

Memories are like a knife.
You use it to prepare ingredients
For the warm meals you thrive on.
But one day it turns on you.
You've never seen it like this,
Been on the sharp side of the knife.
It's a one-edged knife but a double-edged sword.
You live off of the food it provides
And suddenly it's threatening to take everything away
With a single thrust.
Like the dagger and Macbeth,
It looms over your head.
"What have you done?!" It screeches.
You shrink back in your alleged guilt.
Your breath turns to clouds.
Everything is cold, like the surface of the metal.
You are paralyzed with fear.
You haven't done anything.
But it doesn't care.
It follows you, screaming endlessly, DAY and NIGHT.
Memories are what keep you alive.
Until they're not.
Memories are like a knife.
And I swear I'm bleeding out.

Memories are like a bullet.
You hand your love an empty gun, and say,
"Come here and help me load it."
You load each bullet (one by one)
As you stand there together (hand in hand)
And you look at your love and whisper
"Please don't ever shoot."
Promises never hold forever.
Someone always shoots, and if we take too long...
Life shoots for us.
We're constantly in denial,
We hold tight to what we know we can't keep.
Sometimes, even when we see the trigger pulled,
We don't let go of our love.
The bullet goes through both of us.
Once the hole in your side heals, you might forget.
For a while.
But then you hear a firework,
Or someone's finger pokes you in the side,
Or you see another's blood,
And you are pulled back to the moment.
You remember being shot.
The bullet's still lodged inside of you.
It will be there forever.
You feel the exact spot where it lies.
You relive the impact, and you can't breathe.
Memories are like bullets.
And I swear I'm being shot to death.

Memories are like a rope.
You used to be on the ground.
Jumping up and down helplessly,
Your hands stretched up in the air,
Hoping that someone would come and lift you up.
Someone came and took your hand
And sat you down
And together you worked,
Slowly but surely weaving a rope.
They harnessed you and assured you
That you would be safe,
And hoisted you up,
And abandoned you.
You were flying!
It had always been your dream.
You were so excited, so elated,
That you didn't notice something very crucial.
You were all alone.
It's been years now.
Instead of flying, you feel like you're falling.
Falling down and down, but never losing height.
You wish the ropes would unravel.
You wish you'd just fall already!
You just want to be back on the ground.
To stay there forever.
You'll never reach for the clouds again.
You struggle and struggle,
Trying to break free of the wings that have quickly become handcuffs.
The ropes are slipping off of your body...
You are sinking lower...
They've wound themselves around your neck.
You're hanging lower now.
Your feet are barely six inches off the ground.
But without air, your head,
THE VERY ESSENCE OF YOU,
Is rising towards the clouds again.
Your feet are so close to the ground.
You look down.
So close.
You pull down harder.
The noose gets tighter.
Memories are like a rope.
And I swear the life is being choked out of me.

Memories are like sleeping pills.
You lie awake at night.
There is nothing in your head.
No hope, no dreams.
You don't have to fall asleep to live in a nightmare.
A knock comes on your door.
"Let me in," a soft voice urges.
"I can be your doctor."
You'll be okay, they say.
All you need is some sleeping pills.
"Here, I'll fill several prescriptions at once.
It's easier for you," they say.
You take one.
Suddenly you no longer dread going to bed.
You look forward to it.
Each pill is an escape.
You close your eyes and live in bliss.
Three months later, you've had a hard day.
You take a pill.
It's not enough.
"What happened to my beautiful dreams?!" You sob.
You need the dreams.
YOU NEED THEM TO LIVE.
Desperate,
Fingers trembling in desire,
You swallow (pill after pill)
Memories are like sleeping pills.
And I swear I'm overdosing.

Memories are all these weapons and more.
You are heavy from loneliness,
Suddenly blinded by love,
And you slip
You fall on the same knife
That was used to untie your bonds.
Sometimes you can't wait for a hero.
The heroes you wait for are the ones easily distracted.
They run over to you, distracted from whatever they had previously.
As soon as they save you, they'll notice someone else.
They'll leave their life-saving weapon behind with you.
You can't always wait for a hero.
Sometimes you have to be your own.
You'll be left alone, no one to heal your wounds.
One last act of self-preservation.
You must pull out the knife and stitch up your heart and scream that you are not the guilty one.
You must dig the bullets out of your flesh.
You must grab the rope and pull it apart with impossible strength.
You must slap yourself in the face and wake yourself up to purge the pills before you die.
You must save yourself when no other earthly being can save you.
You will always be there for yourself, and you must take advantage of that.
Memories are all these weapons and more.
And I swear you have it in you to rise above them.