This soul is empty

here, take this

I have taken off my glasses

I have decided to trust my fingers against the keyboard and to

find a place among the dark that supports me

my face feels heavy and sunk back, cleaving to the pillow beneath it,

collapsing brain cavity

empty and flat.

the only promise of a working system is the taptaptaptapclickpink

of the keyboard as my fingers move heedless of the trauma in my mind

I'm not sure how thoughts and synapses and neurotransmitters have made us emotional, how does that happen?

they say to show empathy, you must be able to recognize yourself in the mirror.

this is the test that they give chimps and great apes and judge whether they pass or fail accordingly,

but is that all it takes?

a simple, yes....that's me?

I don't recognize myself anymore.

I don't feel like a person anymore.

I tell myself every day, I try to convince myself that I am

that I am who I once was. That I am stronger than brain waves, 

than the hot surge of tears that tightens my face and sinks my soul

that I am okay.

I cannot convince myself.

I cannot seem to grasp life anymore, but I can't tell you

— I CAN'T TELL YOU

I CAN'T SEEM TO SHOUT IT ENOUGH TO MYSELF

HOW COULD I CONVINCE SOMEONE ELSE

THAT I WANT

I want to possess that confidence again: the confidence in myself, that I can overcome, that I am smart....because I just don't feel it anymore and I don't know

I will keep plastering masks over my face; I will reuse them, ah, here is the set of eyes that show I am listening

the mouth that shows I know you're funny

the hair that says I care enough to bathe

the glasses that say I want to see this world....

the glasses I have taken off long before now.

~Hammeh

Horseshoe Crabs and Tangled Hair

quiet

There's an owl outside
and I haven't heard
owls since Massachusetts
with the dark weave of tree branches
and the solid scent of pine
the ultimate quietness of a soft ocean
at night.

There is a difference between city
houses, suburban houses, built of
sheetrock and sturdy window frames,
and houses built far apart, where
sea-grass meets doorframe and
sand meets carpet, where the night
is not blurred and broken into shards
of streetlight, where a soft breeze
rustles leaves and rumbles gravel,
where there is no super highway, no airplanes,

no barrier

between you and the fresh air
the sound of an owl
and the whisper of something far
older.

~Hammeh