A COMMUNAL EXPERIMENT IN SELF CURATION

a Soul Project

archival : loneliness and religion :

I drew tonight
for the first time since summer.
I picked up the pencil and sketched.
Its amazing, how I haven't
lost a bit of what I had
(and I haven't gotten any better).
I know its true
but my fingers don't feel it,
and neither does my heart.
I drew a hollow X
Where my subject's heart should have been,
and more than ever now
I know its exactly what's missing.
It doesn't matter how I shade it,
this wound can't be erased.
I remember
telling him how he filled me up.
I wonder if he ever really believed it. Understood.
He'd always looked so honored,
so happy and so loved when I'd tell him,
admit,
that his presence
filled the empty spaces that
my father's absence had
created for so many agonizing years.
I meant every word.
And he'd beam, bright and dark as the sun.
I could feel him while sketching,
concentrating on the form of
the shoulders, the arms, the chest.
I could feel him, damnit.
I know every freckle on that boy's body,
every hair, every muscle.
I know the very feel of his skin,
how his body
would always respond to my touch,
my fingers grating lovingly
through his hair,
My mouth exploring his ear,
everything. I know that boy.
I can feel him, right now, could conjure him up.
All I ever have to do
is think about him,
and the memories come alive:
Far gone games like kiss the dots.
His wincing face when tickled.
The smile of wonder on an eager face.
His eyes sparkling in a dark room.
And the way
he'd tip his chin up and smirk
as if it made him look tougher.
He was always gentle.
He had a caring touch.
He had aware hands and arms,
like he'd planned his every movement.
There wasn't a thing I could hide from him
and there wasn't a thing I felt compelled to hold in,
yet he could always sense when
something was wrong,
something was different, or
something had changed.
There's no one here
who knows how to read me, anymore.
No one to know my feelings,
to hold me when my parents yell,
to be there when I need comfort,
to make me smile and laugh
just by living and breathing.
The phone doesn't ring, anymore.
Not at all.
No one asks about my day, anymore.
No one really cares,
really worries about me
or how I'm doing.
No one puts in the effort
to crack a smile, hoping
to make things better.
Who the hell do I have, now.
Its almost been an entire year.
What will I do?
What will I do when that year has come,
and gone.
We've missed December 8th,
we're going to miss Christmas,
we're going to miss New Years,
we're going to miss graduation,
we won't even know one another anymore!
I miss him.
I miss him, god damnit.
And I'm supposed to pretend
like it never happened,
like I never fell in love,
like I never would've given my life.
I'm retarded.
It hasn't gotten any easier, obviously.
Just different.
The phone's right here,
just an arms length away,
just a ten-digit call from his voice.
God fucking damnit, what the hell.
This is why I disagree so adamantly
With the "god" so many religions rever.
I have my own spiritual companion,
don't get me wrong,
but this "god" of theirs
has done jack shit for me thus far.
You can have your beliefs,
but I don't worship anyone.
I can't see their imaginary friend,
and neither can they see mine.
Fuck this shit.
I'm so tired of being alone.
I'm so tired of being alone.
Are you getting this?
Are you hearing this?
Do you understand, now?
I'm tired of being alone.