A Bedtime Story from Cap

How about a bedtime story? A change of tone, my heathens. I hope you don’t mind that it isn’t Sunday.

Today, I speak with you all personally about a dream I once had when I was a very small child. The thing about being a child is that there is so much that appears to be beautiful in our eyes. From the way water trickles down the driveway after the car is washed to the way the lavender-colored trees sway to and fro on a very windy day because they are just so enormously tall. A sparkle and twinkle in your eye, a grin spread so wide that it may just be good for something later on. Ah, and your hands were so small, just like all the clothes you used to wear.

Or perhaps you used to live near the sea? Where breezes were mingled with salt and water and the skies had a constant grey overcast, it can’t always be sunny after all. But there were still days where the sand would become littered in shovels and pails and little moulds of turtles and seahorses. Lighthouses that never really worked the way you thought they would. Wooden fences wearing down because the sea kept trying to face plant into it. How the world seemed so divided once your feet moved from sand to black asphalt, so different.

Maybe you lived somewhere stranger, like near a bog or marsh? I’ve never been to a place, but I know a dear friend who has. They live there in peace and fill my nights with love stories between cloud gods and thunder strikes, hot weather and rainy weather, the cool darkness of their room compared to the warm embrace of a million bedsheets.

Strange and crazy things happening right under your nose that they couldn’t possibly tell me for…reasons, I suppose.

It is such a pretty world we live in that sometimes I forget the monsters that plague us everyday. I forget the cruel truth of friendships and love, how the two seem so unbreakable yet, are truly very fragile.

I feel like we are stepping on a glass marble that will shatter under our heels at any given moment. So strange, yet so familiar.

I am happy we can be content in knowing that our existences are fragile. I am so happy.

Goodnight, my heathens. May your slumbers be ever peaceful.

-Cap

Aftermath of A God’s World

You’re warm like summer and silky as cream

Slipping past my fingertips

As I raise you above your planet

And spill you back to whence you came

You are the sand that caresses my palms

And I feel every grain

I value every creature, every child that is mine

From the empty-eyed doe to the bow legged goat

Lovingly, I whisper life into their lungs and light into their minds

Bite me all you like, I shall never harm you

But bring destruction upon yourselves, that is when I cannot save you

You are hot like the summer and white as sour milk

The pearly bones of your existence slip past my fingertips

As you are risen above your planet

And crushed inside my palm

And spilled back to whence you came


This is a re-post from my Instagram. I felt that all poetry should eventually find its way back home to here, no matter where they are first birthed.

Mindless Drabbles

Why can’t feeling be bought at the gas station

Amnesia sold in bottled plastic,

Emptiness poured in soup cans,

Empathy packed in air-tight bags,

With shrink wrap seals

And alarm-rigged boxes

But trauma is free to those that don’t want it

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