The Week My Grandmother Died

The Week My Grandmother Died

I screamed at my mum to get the car, and carried my grandmother down the stairs.

I prayed for the first time in a over a decade, to a god that I don’t believe in.

I muffled violent sobs with a beach towel in the back yard. I did not go to the beach.

I consoled my mother outside a public restroom, in rural Spain, in the middle of the night.

I heard my grandmother wheezing every time I closed my eyes.

Family members fought to feed us. We ate roast chicken all week.

I saw my granddad cry for the first time in my life.

Our flight was three hours delayed and when we landed it was too late.

A doctor said that if we had rang an ambulance, she may have survived.

I did not cry at the funeral. I did not feel I had the right.

Speaking In Tongues

Speaking In Tongues

When I say I’m cleaning what I mean is
I’m going to cleanse, wash the whiskey sweating
out of my pores, the smell of bad decisions
and cigarette smoke ingrained into my hair.

When I say I have a meeting, I mean I have to
get out of bed this week, open the curtains
to the blinding light of disappointment,
air out the nightmares haunting my mind.

When I say I’m doing laundry I mean I’m going
to fold all of my responsibilities. I will separate
them into neat piles and leave them at the foot
of the bed so I don’t have to sleep alone anymore.

When I say thank you what I mean is I love you.
When I say I love you what I mean is don’t
ever leave me. I’ll never ask you to stay,
but when I say leave, that is exactly what I mean.

Soundless Fights In The Middle Of The Night

You say: say what you have to say!

But those words echo in my mind because you
are not ready for the deafening tone of the
words that are spilling out of my eyes and you

do not understand what I mean by your eyes
make me want to skinny dip in the ocean and you
don’t speak the language that my body speaks
when it finds itself in enough proximity of yours.

So I sigh.

But you have plenty to say, you insist.

And I do. I want to speak but I can’t seem to get
my spoken words right, I try not to mind that
my mind and heart are in a constant knife fight.

But I can’t pretend around you it’s so intense,
you make them drop their blades and open fucking
gun fire. The bullets they ricochet off my brain to
the left side of my ribcage leaving the contents
of my broken heart splattered across my face.

So I say nothing.

On the days that I miss you the most

On the days that I miss you the most,
my heart weighs so much that
my body can not get out of bed.

I hear your voice in every
twenty-one pilots song
so I play their album on loop
and I sob along to every lyric.

On the days that I miss you the most,
I see your face stitched onto the green
of every snooker table that I pass by.

I miss the way waking up next to you
felt like home, the way your hair
smells in the morning. On the days
that I miss you the most, I am homesick.