I wish
the canvas of my life
isn’t filled with
paintings
of
a fish gasping for air at the surface of an obliterated aquarium.
an eroding riverbank, plastered with riprap to contain the floods of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
stained mascara, scraps of a scrapbook, abandoned toys and a shovel.
and the story of my life
isn’t written with
anecdotes
of
a weak pulse that stays with me throughout every moment of the day, reminding me that there’s something that my heart still aches for.
a moment of gripping pain that engulfs me in that few minutes between my sobriety and drunkenness.
comedic tragedy, archived memories, the innocence of yesterday and a mental coffin.
-
But
if not for these,
I wouldn’t have known
that there’s a place in this world for the misfits and a broken soul.
that even the raging seas can be calmed by a gentle whisper in my ear.
that I can be loved for my delirium, my history, my darkness and my emptiness.
that every cloud has a silver lining, and
that you’re mine.