by Rochelle Del Borrello
I confess I am lost
without hope
free falling through life
doing enough to barely
keep breathing
is that enough?
To live with each breathe
holding onto this existence
through inhaling and exhaling
in the most basic of actions,
hoping death doesn’t come
filling the lungs with air and
expelling carbon dioxide.
It seems so little a thing to do
when a new plague
robs people of this
simple action
taking their lives
by taking away
the abililty to breathe.
(for George Floyd and others)
Well I can’t keep silent anymore
I’ve got to say my peace
else it’s just going to make me sick
I have to say I love you
and I can’t see you being hurt anymore
Stop hurting my friend, can’t you see
he’s innocent.
Why do you stomp him down
with your fear?
He’s just trying to breathe,
needing to live like the rest of us
we need to live together,
why can’t you let him live?
Why do you choose to choke the life out of him?
Stop, don’t shoot, don’t hate, just breathe and think.
Choose love, choose peace and choose kindness
don’t be silent, stop this madness.
My home is filled with ghosts
it is a haunted house.
Like those eerie places
where holocausts have occurred
covered in a thick layer of genocidal misery
from violent acts that have torn souls
away from this world.
The spirits and bad energy linger in the air
making me uneasy
giving me goosebumps
and the strange sensation
someone is trying to whisper something to me
but I cannot make out the words.
Memories flash in my mind as I am where my childhood was played out.
Each step brings me back to the memories and people who will never return.
For one moment and I am a child.
I wish I had been kinder, taken more time to appreciate them.
I turn to look for those beautiful souls, and they are gone
like that sinking feeling when a once vibrant house is now still
the soul is abscent.
I'm always more and more alone as family and friends disappear.
One moment they are here, I can touch them, I feel them,
talk to them, bask in their company, have their advice
and support.
Their laughter and tears are my music.
Then there is silence, and the memories haunt me reminding me they are gone,
my home is filled with ghosts.
A funny thing about the heart
is that it keeps beating
even though it's broken.
Even if the pieces go missing
it still keeps you alive.
Unless it has something else wrong with it
the heartbreak won't kill you.
Even though you feel dead on the inside
it keeps ticking along.
Why? Because that's the way life is supposed to be lived
always shuffling forward.
Children are pushing the years onwards impatiently
willing the time to move more quickly,
youth makes us want to run
in a hurry to achieve something.
Other moments life make us stop
like smashing into a light pole at high speed.
We survive the car crashes life gives us,
slowly re-habilitating ourselves,
because even though we are forced to stop at times
to catch our breath, we never can stop the moment.
It helps us this motion, keeps us putting one foot in front of the other
this gives us a future to look forward to, a past filled with memories,
a way to cope with loss, disappointment and grief.
We are humans who survive it all, growing through strength and love.
Passing on our intuition, drive and knowledge onto the universe
who takes us always onwards.
I know a little bit about grief.
It's the moment you realise
you cannot go back on your own steps
you can't make it better
or say I love you again
see someone's face every day,
hear their laugh, trace the outline of their smile,
hold their hand or give them a hug.
When you learn what it feels like to run out of time.
No more silent pauses in conversations
seeing them across the table,
passing the salad bowl at dinner.
All of those moments you take for granted
stop in your mind,
they are gathered up in memories
and the grieving begins.
I've learnt grief isn't bad,
it's all we have, really,
for our tears are our love
which used to go out
towards those we love.
After they are gone it has nowhere to go,
so our unexpressed love
becomes our grief.
And as our passion is as undying,
as our mourning.
This will never leave
not until our dying days.
It may seem ironic
but I hope we never
stop grieving
because it keeps our
dearly departed near us.
Life doesn't stop
when someone dies,
it merely shifts
and changes into another
gear and somehow
we live with it.
I've never been able to let go of my delicate impossibilities
the airheaded dreamer holds onto what if moments
what would have happened along another path
with different people by my side
or even by myself.
I delight myself in remembering the gentle caresses
standing too close or too long with someone
regretting not leaning over and kissing
or not following someone to the train station
losing touch, moving on while holding on to a first love
never forgetting shared intimacies and always desiring more.
There is one fleeting moment which constantly
haunts me, a man I loved when he was but a boy
I worry perhaps he was my soul mate
he was a reflection of myself, and I have always loved him
I still have his perfume, I smell the odour of our youth
my innocence.
I wish him all my love
and still, I dream of him.
Did he see himself in me and flee
Perhaps he believed I forgot him
I'm a good actress
I can never forget that piece of me
I found myself with him
and I want to let him know
I will always remember you,
soul mate and love
even if you make yourself invisible
the delicate impossibilities will remain.
The bearded lady shaves off her beard
what a strange sensation
her skin tingles
the upper lip so smooth
she is almost cold
as erotic as a Brazilian wax
feeling naked she strangely misses
her fuzzy covering.
As strangers look at her
she realises no one knows
about her beard
only the subtle lines
of her pale face, dimpled chin
and a strong jawline.
Beneath her mask she is beautiful
but she never acknowledges it
or feels her power
she is always hiding, meekly behind
her overwhelming insecurities
she had left it too late
to be free from her plumage
past her prime, she rubs her
smooth cheeks and wonders who
she might have seduced
in her youth
if she had the courage
to shave before
then she suddenly desires her beard.
I carry my fear like a heavyweight
many kilos of fat
pushing down on my bones
making my movements slow
and wearing down my momentum.
I'll never allow fear to make its
home in me
I hope it moves on
I push it away.
A violent act forced fear into my life
like so many random accidents,
which happen when no one expects
so much bigger than any one person
forcing us to live with
the trauma of broken things.
