Birthdays

I have given advice.. watched the transformations .. new life sliding .. they learned all those things not to do.. the things I did.. lonely on those rocks .. and now years after .. you’re in tune with it .. years after you’re a beauty

I could cry .. oh but if only I did cry. All those miles internalizing my shit. And they stood watching as my life dwindled into something far beyond the return. I want to cry about that… need to.. Wondering what went wrong. Wondering how to survive those choices .. wondering when the curtain will fall and the acquaintance of family will descend and pick my bones clean .. I could cry aloud and still feel clownish enough to put that make up on and continue. Last days standing still.

You should know how much I want to grasp it .. that thing you have .. all those years you’ve grown.. and looking at me .. do you see my experience.. standing near me .. can you smell the quietness of ego death and shadow bleaching.. holding onto me can you feel the decline of organs and tissue.. you should know how much you mean to me.. a measure I never gave.. instead I painted those stairs on the walk up to where you fought for wings. Gentle as you were.. a beauty.. fighting for flight .. gaining that status.. still the beauty. stolen from the pulse of the strobe light. happy birthday and it’s not just one more time.. no you’re in the middle of something.. you’re right in the middle

art credit : Cândido Portinari (Brazilian, 1903–1962) • Flautista (Flutist) • 1934 • Watercolor • Unspecified location