In the cards

A dude read Tarot for me the other day. He only reads from a positive perspective, he says. I pick my 10 cards, trying to feel which cards to choose. As if some mystical energy is guiding my choices. I wonder if other people think that way. Did my friend who was read before me think that, as she chose her cards, seemingly less deliberately? Did the older woman after me think about this imaginary force as her fingers kissed the flourish of cards, choosing her destiny? My cards, as carefully chosen as they were, seemed to convey the same story I’ve heard before. The same parable of the resilient survivor, always charging forth, despite the kick in the head, despite the blood. In the end, that could be anyone that isn’t dead. Yet, the energy, it remains – a tingle, a vibration, a dulcet melody in my flesh. Like a single drop of rain sliding slowly down my neck, then the middle of my back, to fade away, somehow into me, my skin.

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Worrisome

I was really happy in 2003.
I didn’t care about anything.
I didn’t worry about work.
I didn’t worry about play.
I didn’t worry if I was too fat.
I didn’t worry if I was too drab.
I didn’t worry about money.
I didn’t worry if it was sunny.
I didn’t worry if I was horny.
I didn’t worry if I was lazy.
I didn’t worry about food.
I didn’t worry about school.
I didn’t worry about home.
I didn’t worry about you, or you, or you.
I was really happy in 2003.
I didn’t worry about anything.

Rememories

I took a walk through a meadow the other day.
It was full of daisies and daffodils,
it felt like Spring.
As I walked I thought of you in the meadow, too.
It was nice to walk with you,
it felt like Love.
And I finished my walk through the meadow.
I knew there were no daisies, no daffodils.
it felt like Hell.

Existential Crisis

I read about cognitive memory,
and apparently, I don’t exist.
I’m alive, but I don’t exist,
not really.

I read about how I lie,
to myself, and to others.
I’m alive, but I’m a liar,
so truly.

I read about how I dream,
and it seems, it’s all a dream.
I’m alive, but dreaming,
too completely.

Boa

The tightness coiled around
my heart,
Squeezing the breath from
my lungs,
Strangling my chest,
with force,
Oozing the darkness into
my veins,
Weaving its path through
my blood,
Snaking its way through
my organs,
Twisting its way to
my brain,
Clouding my mind.