A Box of Damaged Photographs

Tell me it’s okay. I know it’s not, but I want you to tell me anyway.

The world is passing by in a wisp of smoke and I’ve lost sight of the ground.

Tell me who you are, who I am. Speak your words as loudly as you can because I can’t hear you from all the way over here.

The sun is rising, but its beams are fire, licking at the tops of trees, creating the jet black air we breathe.

Where was I? A year has passed, maybe two, and I’ve woken up from a sunshine dream.

I know you love her more than me. You know I love you more than she.

The waves are rising. Everything is almost gone.

I want you to know-

I want you to know that you’re not alone


Even if you feel like you are.

I think we all are, but together just the same.

I want you to-

I want to-

I want to know what it’s like

to feel grounded

and not lost

in a sea of broken memories

surrounded by snapshots of people I used to know

who still know people

and love them

as I no longer can.


Tell me what it’s like to feel happy,

that surge of energy and waves of gratitude,

tongues of awareness lapping at your heels.

Tell me what it’s like to step on stones and actually feel them,

and say “ouch,” or something

rather than this numbness that swaddles me.

Tell me what happiness is like.

I fear I have forgotten.



Every day for #NaNoWriMo2016, I’ve written about 2,000 words a day. Most of them are for work. It’s good practice, but I missed this stream-of-consciousness poetry writing.

Photo Credit: Stuart Palley, California wildfires 2015

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