Extraordinary Love

Sometimes it strikes me right to the heart knowing that magic doesn’t exist.

Knowing that there will be no lightning strike, no sudden and unexplainable reason I can read someones thoughts.

It makes me sadder than thinking I’ll go my whole life without my soulmate. All the stories, all the imagination that goes into our mystical worlds. It’s there to inspire us, to help guide us.

What I wouldn’t give for it to be real. A whimsical wish considering that’s how many of the stories begin and then the protagonist later wishes to rescind that thought.

Still, I am reminded in my dreams that even when I was little “Superhero” was what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Dreams are probably as close as I will get in my lifetime but if there is a day when we have evolved or made ourselves extraordinary, I hope we don’t waste it.

I hope in our time we don’t make the road to the extraordinary harder, with our petty struggles and unnecessary hardships.

We are human above all else. Race, gender, love. These may define us but they don’t segregate us.

Maybe the extraordinary quality of our generation will be our love, if we let it.

That Empty Kind of Love

Sorrow is like an ache in my chest.

A black hole of emptiness inside me, stretching through to my fingertips and toes.

Loss clouds my eyes, dulling my senses till there is nothing left.

The bass echoes through my limbs as I twirl in an room full of empty people.

Bodies jostling, shining with sweat, as I try and feel something.

This is why we are here.

To feel something else, something we can’t give ourselves.

It’s an empty love but love nonetheless.

Lights flash, garishly illuminating our swaying bodies, our blank eyes reflecting red, blue, and yellow.

Reaching up towards an empty ceiling, we crow with toxic excitement.

The drums beat with our hearts, taking away our inhibitions.

This is what we want.

This is why we are here.

We are lost but we are together.

Release

Slowly, I will turn my limbs to iron. With this fire I will carve myself out of my prison.

If it takes a day, or a decade. I will be released.

I will walk a path across the world that shimmers with hope and determination.

I will create my own strength. I will end my own suffering.

If I falter or if I fall, I will wrench myself up and shrug off my weaknesses.

My heart will be made of fire and ice. Capricious, yet stolid against my foes.

Even if that foe is the reflection I see in the mirror.

I will crack my own facade and reveal the true self I keep hidden.

It will be glorious.

It will be me.

Sister

I was born first to help you through the hard times, to give you a gentle hand when you were in need.

You came into the world and didn’t even need me.

You were tough, beautiful, and opinionated, you didn’t need me at all.

It threw me a bit, I didn’t know how to respond to you.

It was like giving advice to an elder sibling, they just look down their nose and laugh.

I still try. I live my life, still thinking of ways to help you along.

Whether it’s something I see that would brighten your day, or something I know that would help you out.

Sometimes, you ignore my advice or throw it in my face. I don’t know how to react.

It comes out in words and actions that aren’t how I truly feel.

In the end I know you still need me. Even if you don’t know it yourself.

Once, you told me all the women in your life have always disappointed you.

I always hated that you were let down by so many people, myself included.

So, I’ll be here. Telling you my stories and experiences. Maybe one day you’ll listen and talk to me too.

Déjà vu

Believing in premonitions is like telling someone the weather man is actually a psychic.

I know that the weather man is just a regular John, reading off a teleprompter, because that’s how life works.

Today though, I feel like I glimpsed a fragment of my future.

It felt like strong déjà vu, like catching sight of something through dirty glass.

You know it’s there but you can’t define the edges.

There is a warmly lit kitchen with chestnut benches that are littered with cooking tit-bits and unopened mail. It feels homey, with the warm smell of fresh coffee pervading the space.

The wide, flat tiles are cold again my bare feat and my sweater is itching my neck while I hurry into the kitchen. I look around for something, sorting through different papers on the bench.

Through a french-style window above the sink I can see the garden, leaves still rimmed with frost. Winter is just beginning, the sun would soon melt the ice and enhance the insistent greenness.

Suddenly, something clutches at my jeans, scrabbling to get my attention. A pudgy boy, bundled in clothes grins up at me, hands sticky with honey and crumbs.

Smiling warmly, I reach down and pick up a wriggly mass of happiness.

This is the scene that plays like a broken record, imprinted in my eyelids.

Whether it happens or not, it’s a nice feeling believing that someday your efforts will all be worth it.

Mania

You’re addicted to the your own high, soaring within your own mind.

You forget us and fly towards the sky, crowing with wonderment.

When you forget us we’re left alone, in our peaceful world of sanity.

Until you crash down beside us.

You crash hard and fast, sinking into the soil with your head hung low.

You don’t know how to control it, you never could bear to try.

Every time you pass us, you glance by and remember our world.

But then the mania takes hold and you lose focus.

That’s how you lost us. In our peaceful world of your up’s and down’s.

Savior

Eagerly, I wait.

Squirming and fidgeting, thinking of how you’ll be or what you’ll look like.

It’s like something just out of your reach, a flash in the corner of your eye.

This feeling of trepidation and excitement.

Whether this is a dream or reality, I don’t mind.

This sweet torture caresses my mind, unconscious or awake.

You’ll hold my hand, smile at me gently, even berate me for my eagerness.

I know you’re coming but I can’t stand this waiting.

It might actually be killing me. My soul was torn in half when we were born.

Whether it was on the same day or years apart, we were meant for each other.

Like an old Greek myth, we will meet and we will become whole again.

My mysterious savior, I hope you’re searching for me because I am searching for you.