Tag: writing

A Cat Named November

In the daylight I felt my body quake
Warmth of the sun on my back
The sound of his breath in my ear
A cat meowing on the fire escape

I padded across to the kitchen
My studio apartment felt woken
As if my stretch and yawn caused a stir
The man however didn’t

Put on the coffee
Crack a few eggs
Scramble it with some whole milk
Talk to the cat

It had appeared one rainy fall
Cats normally choose you
He? She? It? November?
Came with the scent of burning wood and onset rain

Autumn was the greatest time of year
Sweater weather, Comfiness
The love and appreciation of what you have
November came with a loud meow

An orange tabby
With brown highlights
Begging for safety
They smelled the rain too
Ran inside as the window opened

A relationship
Not ownership
Comes and goes when sees fit
Has a bed, food, and water

Leaves presents on the fire escape
Only comes in when it rains and to eat
Says good morning and good night
Studies, cooks and sings with me

The man stirred and raised quickly
Nightmare? Slept so good was unaware?
Where he was, who he was with
His focus came slow just like his sly smile

November came in
Meowing as if asking who he was
“A friend who stayed over. Handsome, right?”
The man’s smile turned boyish

Hand stretched out to welcome this authority
November must have approved
Jumped in the man’s lap
Purring and kneading his bare skin

Brown boy
Orange cat
Moring glory
Let’s eat

November enjoyed a bowl of wet food Between I and him
Trusted, but know your place
November kept an eye on him









Why I Like Media About Suicide

The universe seems to open up for the person thinking of it. For most of the movies and books out there about it, that is. It’s as if the whole universe decides to let them see why it’s worth continuing. Side quests and random relationships that change the whole perspective. I love all the different forms of media because I feel everything as if I were the main character. When reading, I don’t read and see what is described; I feel what is described, crystal clear.

When I first started smoking weed and ingesting edibles, I started to dream more and remember it. My dreams were always weird, and only once in a blue moon were they too real. One time, I took an edible and woke up, checking my arm to see if there was a bullet wound. Before getting shot I was engrossed in what was playing out in front of my eyes. They were talking to me but I didn’t feel like I was involved, until I got shot.

Dreams became another medium where I can feel a person’s emotions. Of course, the ones I know best and can understand are the strong emotions. I’m an addict of suffering. The amount of Japanese dramas and movies I would watch to have it tear my heart apart. The suicide ones always have a happy ending, usually, in some way or another. Someone, whether it was the friend who had to stay after the person was gone, or the actual person contemplating it. The air of hope and promise is so thick you can choke on it.

It’s amazing how fragile everyone is, yet we don’t speak it. It is also amazing what happens when we choose life. Such a beautiful masterpiece waiting to be woven, with others, with art, with love.

The Last Christmas

We come to a scene in Long Island, NY. A big red house on a small side road of the only highway in or out of the hamptons. A single mother and a teenager from a class you don’t hear much about in this area. The holidays are all about traditions, this small family was surely different. The daughter, Aminah, had no wants other than to live comfortably. Something she knew was overly ambitious. The mother, Denise, was a dreamer who brought her daughter into the world in hopes to change it. With their family of two the tradition of Christmas was simple. Start shopping two weeks before and buy the tree two days before. Nothing else would be done until the twenty-third, starting with finally putting the lights and bulbs on the tree. Then all day Christmas eve the two of them will work until two or three am wrapping all the presents, putting the finishing touches on the tree, and baking at least five dozen cookies for aunts and uncles.

That was their tradition for the past decade, a smooth dance the two of them completed each year. This one would be diffrent though, and the last one the two of them would spend together. Aminah knew this despite her mother trying her best to console her. The whole year Denise had been in and out of the hospital. This was the first month they had been in their own apartment, and together, since March. Aminah had heard whisperings of Denise denying a gift of a kidney from a classmates family memeber. It seemed each day her mother grew sicker, and her biggest fears were coming true. The clock struck ten, and Denise called Aminah into her room.

“I’ll get up in an hour and we can start setting everything up.” Aminah looked at her mother, pale, slightly out of breath because she had missed dialysis for a few days. “It’s fine, mom. I can do it. Just rest and I’ll see you in the morning.”

She tested the different sets of lights, putting up her favorite bulbs and mixing them with the ones they had bought the other day. Tinsel all around the tree, while she chuckled thining about he cute elves from Santa Clause breaking everyone out with it. Lastly, she wrapped her mom’s presents, there would be no cookies this year. She finished everything around five in the morning, checked on her mom before finally going to bed.

Waking up four hours later, Aminah went to her mom’s room for them to open their presents. Denise began to cry as soon as she entered the living room. “You did such a great job, Aminah! The most beautiful tree we’ve had, for sure.” As always, to her surprise, there were about ten extra presents under the tree with her name on it. Aminah still doesn’t know how her mom was able to hide her presents; they would just appear under the tree. When did her mom do it? It had looked like she hadn’t moved since the morning. Most people then watch the parades or Christmas movies, but Aminah was never a fan of these things. So the two of them tuned into the radio and switched from the Oldies station, Delilah, and BLI. Music should never stay in one decade when being listened to.

Aminah started brunch, her signature dish, scrambled eggs with cheese and pancakes. The two sat singing songs, eating, and not talking about the elephant in the room. A beautiful memory, indeed.

Horrors

She told me not to worry
Like she always did
Now she doesn’t answer my messages
Like those seven years before

She called one late night
As if time didn’t past I ran
Queens to Brooklyn
Leave him I said

High school reunion coming up
Neurotic nights
Too high and burdened with responsibilities
She wanted me to run to her again

I didn’t
She told me about him again
Marriage on the horizon
House sitting on a secluded island

She’s not answering my messages
She’s not answering my texts
A bad feeling sets in my stomach and heart
She’s online so she has to be ok

If he didn’t murder her and leave her phone on
She had already cut me off
Leaving me on read
Like always

Horror stories playing out in my head

Words and Phases

I have begun to realize that words are useless

There isn’t one great reason just many decent ones

People don’t listen so words fall

People don’t speak well so words are misunderstood

People are scared so words aren’t formed

The ability to scare yourself silent

That is the tragedy of being human

 

In the same breath they can bring peace

Hope, salvation, all of the positivity

All coming down to a point of view

All coming down to reading between the lines

Communication isn’t just words

It’s movement and extra sounds

A tragedy that we can’t always trust the five senses

 

Life and feelings are phases of change

One phase not looking like the other

A person’s phases and words never matching

A different stage a different meaning

Everyone’s interpretation silent

Senses and fears

We are human just words and phases

Night Walks

Insomnia

Something I’ve had since young

Winter night walks

Something that unravels my chest

Crisp air that reminds me that I am alive

Blackness and cold that I wrap around myself

Nothing is more beautiful than nature untouched

I alone walking in the weightless dark

It is possible to think of nothing

It is possible to feel like nothing

Both not actually being a bad thing

Surrounded by such grandeur

How do I actually compare?

Sunrise, Soon rise

At exactly 7:48 am the sun peaked behind the apartment buildings. She blew on her mug squinting as it peaked. “This is what I pay for” she thought. She had been up all night, worried. Worried that all her fears had come true since she was a child but one. Well, the one was a fear and a wish. Even as a child she knew that she was useless, she had potential, she knew that. However, she wasn’t a person that knew how to use it. So many people struggling out there could have done so much with this life. It is wasted on her, but just look at this sunrise.

Today was the day she would start therapy and probably be prescribed medication. Hoping to give herself the fight she needed. Cause suicide wasn’t an option, she could never handle pain. No matter how many times she pictured and planned, she’d Google it and click the first link. It talked about what jumping off of a bridge does to a body. It shook her to her core that it is possible to attempt to die and be stuck here with no ability to move. Looking it up was a way to make her stay vigilant, if it can hurt others it cannot be a plan. 

The mom  figure of a therapist let her in her office. It seemed kinda shady as it was in a basement of an old apartment building. There were plenty of doctor’s offices down there, all seemingly lost in time. The lady asked her to tell her about herself, a question she always hated. Diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, the therapist says she will write a prescription for lexapro. She’s heard of it but the whole session felt rushed and unhelpful. She would end up being right, trying to reconnect with the therapist made her feel like she imagined her visit. Would she only ever be ghosted by people?

Once again 7:48 AM she watched the sun slowly rise behind the apartment buildings in the distance. She wondered when that will be her. A blazing force slowly rising to bring good and bad things to the people of earth. Just think how often it is for people to rise so bright that they assume it’s only light and warmth shared. Do you think that is what parents always hope for their child’s future? She knows that one day that will be her. A sun, a phoenix, an important figure with a caring touch. Soon she’ll be just like the sun she admires.

Mi Ahn

He awoke in the fuzzy pink floor chair. Head in the seat the rest of his body outstretched on the new carpet. The veggie knife next to his head, he wonders why it is there. Arching his back into a bridge, settling his bones like a cat, he looks at his surroundings. Seeing the numerous empty green soju bottles scattered on the floor and table. A sharp pain rockets inside his temple, he needs water and a hangover cure. A memory floats through his head like a movie, two people in tears. His heart cringes with the memory of their wounded faces.

“We love you! We can’t keep allowing yourself to drink your life away.”

“Don’t lie! You don’t love me! No one actually likes me!”

There is no turning back now. He normally acts like he forgets what happens when he’s drunk. Most people believe him, they are no match for his self-delusions. He gets up, steadying himself, and sees if he can find his lovers. Looking through the different rooms he’s shocked to be unable to find them. Each of them had their own personal room because they were their own person. They shared the house and everything else, but they had their own room when they needed to be alone. Seems like an interesting way to live right? He didn’t like it, his lovers were very much into being their own person. They loved him wholeheartedly but still knew how to be themselves. This is actually why he loved them, that they were so comfortable with themselves. Something he’s still learning.

“Maybe they decided to go grocery shopping. I’ll just call them.”

Self-delusion. More memories float into his head. Flashes of him yelling and crying. The two of them crying and talking to him softly, stroking his wrists. Petting him like a child who’s found out what death is for the first time. Another flash finding the two of them in bed cradling each other, in her room. She’s crying.

“We were having such a great dinner. He cooked both of our favorites. I don’t understand how it turned out like this.”

He walks in; knife in hand placing the blade on the other man’s neck. Getting in bed with them he puts his legs over both of theirs. 

“What if I kill you guys right now? I wouldn’t let you guys leave without me though, don’t worry.” he said.

“You don’t have the balls. You couldn’t kill us. All you do is make these dramatic ploys for attention. Which, by the way, don’t make any sense because everything already revolves around you.” He liked the vibrations he felt as the man said this to him. Was he right?

He moves the knife onto her now. Dragging the blade on her left breast onto her stomach. Their little pea has been growing nicely, she’s even gotten plump growing her. He then moves the knife onto her face staring into her eyes as he slides it down her cheek. There was no fear, just anger, and exhaustion. 

He had tried to call both of their cell phones four or five times by now. All the memories of last night making the pit in his stomach feel heavier. What a terrible mistake he made last night. What a horrible person he is. How had they stayed with him for so long? He remembers that last night was a special occasion. It was their third anniversary, the three of them. Jack and he had been together for six years now, but Molly had been with them for three. He goes to his room and realizes for the first time that his room was the one that they shared the most. It was a perfect combination of all of them. Molly’s love for art and culture decorates the walls. Jack’s  love for creating a safe and balanced space made the room seem bigger than it was. His contribution to the room are the different knick knacks he collected from his trips overseas. They all had an impressive collection of language books, two and a half bookshelves full.

“Honey!! We’re home!” Said Jack and Molly in unison. Crashing into the apartment with excitement.

“I smell samgyapsal!!” said Molly

“I smell buckwheat noodles and kimchi!” said Jack

“Welcome home!” He said giving them both a long kiss. “What you are smelling is correct. There are pieces of pork belly ready to eat and delicious Korean dishes to go with it! Happy Anniversary!” 

The three of them sitting down on the blue and white carpet, making themselves comfortable. He gets two shot glasses for Jack and himself. and a soju from the freezer.  

“I thought we decided that we’d stop drinking altogether, for the baby?” Jack said raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Today is a special occasion!!! Let’s celebrate, it’s not like we drink every day.”

“You do though. Every meal.” Jack said

“This is different. We are celebrating!”

“Ok. I won’t argue today. Only one bottle though, ok?” Jack said 

“That’s all we need!”

There was an answer. Four hours of trying to call them and they finally answer.

“Hey! We were at the doctor. Today was another sonogram. We found out the sex!!” said Molly

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He broke down in tears gasping for air ever so often.

“I thought you guys left. I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“We love you. You think we’d do that without some kind of note or something? We will be talking though. Once we get home. We’ll hold the good news for afterward.” Molly said.

There was shifting and weird sounds until Jack’s voice came through the phone.

“I told her that you wouldn’t remember that we had a doctor’s appointment. I knew you’d worry. I think this was her way of getting back at you slightly. Serves you right.”

He sniffed “mi ahn ha da”

“jir dao ah. woo men ai ni.” jack said

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” Jack said

“I love you like the stars that have shined before, forever.” Molly said. .  . . .