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Tag Archives: breath

Life is a cliff-hanger
some of us are the cliffs with clingy grievances hanging from our shoes and ankles
some of us refuse to let go of these people we feel sorry for
some of us are escape artists
built with strength and emotional power to pull ourselves up
and onto the cliff
not knowing there will be more cliffs
not knowing there will be more people and events to hold us down
like the string of a helium balloon tied to a chair or to a wrist
I am small and bound to burst
I am full and cannot flee my purpose

Britta B.

The pursuit
is the truth
My passion has clouded my clarity
with boisterous,
bulging cloud formations
Beautiful, passing, plump
Everything up to this point
directed me to a warm moment of panic
a painful relief
I have not been touched
with such tender assurance
than when I was
disappointed
The sweet prize was
disguised as a goal –
something to aim for
when the Truth was having
a barrel to look through
down
into

Britta B.

There’s just something about somebody
who just
shows up
unannounced, no calls
no signals

just appears

He just shows up
from around the corner

gives you that look
that you can’t look

away from

Britta B.

Cigarettes have a subtle way of slathering succulence
to the itty bitty
holes inside my person
I was surprised to see so many holes were there
but in the moment those vacant lots
began to fill up with air
I was
full again

with emptier pockets
and bigger holes

I accused
the cigarette, called it perpetrator
for poking fingers
into open wounds
just to see how far it could go before touching bone
when really
it was the wound to blame
for foolishly inviting an arsonist in for company
into my home

Don’t you know
how
smoke
persuades
me
and my wounds
dance
when wounds
know very well
the first toke could be my last
but damn,
what’s another inhale
to an exhale
what’s another inhale to an exhale full in its release
with a consistency of relief
when every inhale is a struggle
every breath making the concept of Life
seem like a disease

Between being under the influence
between having a choice
and having a chance
in the end
every feeling, person, and habit will experience death
no matter how, what or why
no matter how good of a dancer you are
no matter how good you are
at frisking the sky
you will surprise yourself… and then you will die

and while you’re aware of your dying
that’s when you’re really living

Maybe
I won’t smoke the other half of yesterday’s cigarette tonight

maybe

instead

I will meditate
on who’s smoking the other half of me

Britta B.

Can’t swim
but love to study the waves

My favourite part of the day
is when it’s raining
Ah, blue o’clock
I take my time coming home

Trouble
you’re in trouble…

I sing to myself when I catch him
in my breath

His eyes:
two liquid capsules full of transparent blur
red-rimmed and open ocean blue
He
was barely there

When asked what’s up
his head hangs like a crooked frame on a wall
and the little yellow and red Lego pieces of me
instantly connect
to the ton of bricks on his shoulders
I know, I know
You shouldn’t play with road kill.
But it’s like holding a camera in your hands with no flash
and you must make light of the situation
I guess the best way to explain it
is that
wherever he is, I’ve been there

I get it

Despite surviving a semi-detached house full of split personality
part of me believes
I deserve to be forgotten, left alone unwanted
Sometimes I feel like a rescue dog, you know?
Scared
and hungry
for something other than what could be held in my mouth
or sometimes I feel like an ex-jock
who can’t help but be loud and drag around a stupid Letterman jacket
I might run ahead a few blocks
but I always look back
and it’s complicated to fall
for someone who doesn’t want to be who they are
It’s counterproductive to react (it doesn’t do any good to feel bad)
The hardest part of being there is knowing when to step back

I step back, out of the way

His eyes, two tidal waves
of Come At Me
or Get Out of My Face

I can tell he’s been chasing shadows and leaving dead people
all over town
Not that he’s in any danger per se
but he’s desperate to escape from living out the corner of his eye
so I make him a bed he can’t refuse
circle around it a few times
before laying down
and joining in

We reach for our slingshots and fold into each other’s laughter
pointing at those who scurry by with their newspapers and umbrellas
because we love the rain
we love the water and
would kill to have something we’re made of
destroy us
Using my arms for scaffolding, I build myself up into a seated position and…
He’s a copycat!
Mocks the way I study the waves
and I’m… flattered

Because it doesn’t matter
if you’re looking through trash or looking through
glass,
you always find what you’re looking for

Britta B.

I feel like I’m waiting for a moment
a specific moment
a breakthrough
a gasping breath of fresh air and
I’m making my way around the city, determined
to gather the right
people, spirits, energies
at the right time
in the right place.

I’ve had moments resemble
this moment, but I know
I’m preparing for a bigger
moment – one that
lasts, one that stays
doesn’t leave me, no
matter how many times
I tell it to go
away.

I am a lighthouse moving like water beside fire
looking
for a moment to boom.

Britta B.