the universe is an unkind place

still trying to forgive
the universe for what happened to your father
pleading, for something
other than whiteness and met with a tacet

they teach us in school all
the layers of the skin yet i keep remembering
how translucent it lingered against
the underside of your wrist, where i
brushed a finger to unearth your pulse only to feel it
quivering, the first time we stood beneath
a waterfall and you whispered, hey look
maybe the universe isn’t all bad

but then i call you
on the phone that night for nothing
other than to cry and you said
don’t be afraid, there is someone out there who loves you
more than you will ever know
say it all, here is someone who will actually listen

like look at the sky so heavy
i think it’s been wanting to rain for a while now
i am waiting for the time to scream
to see a colour other than red
how long for the past to tire of holding me back?
i love with a giraffe heart and i think it will kill me someday
so close to drowning that i’ve stopped caring
what the lifeline is made of
i will choose over and over to hold on to it even if
it is something time cannot heal and i have to spend forever
piecing myself back together

dusk, and i am too cold to practice understanding
attaching resent to your heart pumps
the blood so alkaline
delivering to every organ a peal of bleach

hush darl,
i think your father forgave the universe a long time ago

Celestial

It is said that to write a letter to the moon, you have to fold it 42 times.
I have written letters that have been folded 43, 50 times, just to be safe-
Telling it how we fell asleep counting stars, until numbers lost meaning;
Drank in the moonlight until we were but intoxicated on lustre.

I should think that if I could, I’d tip the entire world upside down, just so I could live in the sky.
And maybe you’d join me, because that way, we’d be able to sleep in the crescent of the moon, and orbit planets until we were dizzy with rapture;
Use stars to skip across galaxies, and chase shooting stars until we found the very boundaries of the universe.

Does the moon know, that time and time again, I find myself scaling trees,
Believing naively that if I conquered the highest one, I’d be able to touch the sky.
And though I grip at trunks with blistered palms,
More often than not, I found myself back at its roots,
Nursing Earth-kissed bruises and twig-drawn scratches.

And so I ask the moon one last time-
Why is it that I can’t find my balance?
And that’s when I hear it whisper,
Its voice carried on wisps of evening wind,

My sweet child, don’t you ever be deceived into believing you lost your footing.
No, if others ever ask you, you tell them you were simply swept off your feet
By this feeling I can only describe as eternity.