nathanael.ink

why am I in so much pain
my body aches
does my body know
what my heart’s been through?

I want an algorithm to stitch me in a sonnet
I want to be pretty but my mind and words I think are ruined

my esophagus keeps closing
it is hard to breathe
& hard to breathe
and my esophagus is closing

it’s like my body wants to shut me up
but I find other ways
to say my peace
and ruin things

I want to be pretty & grieve
and lie and cheat and steal for good reasons
I want to be so transcendentally things
that everything I know and believe translates into me
I could read their mind and know
they heard me out and understood
and there would be no judgement
when I am everything
because knowing all the good reasons we got here
would get us all the good will we’d need to leave

leave suffering
and ecstasies
and everything
in between

so that every experience takes on equal incandescent degrees and specificity
takes on all the meaning an experience could ever be

it is not a game of raising up
or thinking more highly of
it is to dispose of scales completely
it is not a flattening
it is where no two things have any two points of comparison
where each experience takes on its own complete dimensionality

better and worse lose application

I know this is just the sort of thing one might expect to find in poetry…
it’s just… I’m sick and throbbing and all I want is to stop wishing I wasn’t