Big Feelings — EatUrMood

Dirty Pages

Sometimes all you can do is
write about it.
The memory and misery,
limerence and lingering.
Yearning and figuring,
all that was entering.
Remembering and de-centering,
a soil no longer fertile.
There is dirt on these pages,
please excuse my garden.
Forgive me for digging,
I don’t want to harden.

@eaturmood

How’d we let it grow to this?
You with her
Me a mess
Happiness suits you and I’m sure
your laughter is still glorious.
I miss the boring
The reruns and grocery restocking
Naps and big meals
Games and bad movies
How’d we let it grow to this?
You with her
Me in abyss
Shaping a forgotten novel
I believe them now—

LoveIsAwful

How could it be temporary?

A love that can dig and bleed..
Get planted like a seed,
dug in real deep and buried
underneath.
How temporary could it be?
I will level out your fees.
Laughs and tease
while you pass me the keys.

How temporary could it be?

@eaturmood

The sound of tin foil reminds Townsend of a happy childhood.

The oven set to 350… A single mother, doing her best.
Their best years carried smells of ashes and waxed vanilla.
Sounds of screen doors, cats and crickets.
Bike pedals next to trampoline metals.
Townsend’s mother lived in a safe enough neighborhood.
Things only felt limited when you needed AC.

After a round of bad luck, and months of high-jacked cable,
she watched her mother’s favorite meal come a compact rock.
The oven stayed cold and dinner was a plate of chocolate syrup.
Her mother would use her fingers as utensils and tell Townsend
about a culture that only ate with their hands.
She seemed well traveled for someone
chained to the inside of their mind.

It’s been over a decade since Townsend looked at her mother.
Townsend had to forget the woman who set the oven to 350.
Dialing the oven to 345 to avoid any chance of
inheriting the same fate.

She replayed the Friday her mother lost her mind.
Fearing the sound of crushed bones and stones.
Townsend erased the driveway of bike tires and
replaced the memory with a pile of teeth.

What would life be like to have collected
thoughts and solid pieces of her mother?

A life where tinfoil was just fucking tinfoil.

@eaturmood

Old oak tree,
do you remember me?

I’ve been with the willows,
learning how to bend,
wallowing in the wind.

How much time does it take,
to soften in your shade?

Are there rules or fees
to getting off my knees?
Is standing what happens
when I stop asking?

You stay.
I practice doing the same.

@eaturmood