Depression (Iteration 11)

The Lord my Sun has given me everything
They have given me a way forward
They have given me a way onward

I’ve basked so healthily and so happily
In my Lord’s grace and favor

And yet, so turbulently, their light has been bent askew

Causation and caustic influence have invaded
My soul, my permanence, in my Lord’s light
And I wish my Lord would save me

This: all true—until the whirlwind of vipers
The maws of these Dragons, their mouths distended
Devour my fear and my Darkness

All for me to learn that Darkness has always been with me
To learn that Darkness
May not be what I’ve feared, but what I’ve desired

— M.M.

"Fear came first"

 Fear came first.

Fear was the first to accrete out

                    of the waste of nothingness, out of the darkness.

And fear is still here. Will it always be here?

                    And I wonder: when shall fear die?

When I exhaled my first breath,

                    when I spoke my first word:

It was fear that greeted me.

Fear is the most heinous of things,

                    the most insidious of lifelings.

I did not know that fear came first

                    until fear constricted me.

                                 — M.M.

"It was the darkest of days"

It was the darkest of days
That day I saw the vulture hungering at me
So menacingly and so malignant

The day when dark obscured the sun and my light
When all that I saw, and wanted to see, was dust and death

But then—oh, then!
A coruscating sword arose from a nowhere place
And pierced, and sliced, and re-knit my heart

It was then—then
That rebellion and antithesis decided
That I would not be askew or self-deprecating

Oh, yes—then
When I enwrapped myself with primal fire
And saw for the very first time:

My self

—M.M.

"This is the last thing I would ever write"

This is the last thing I would ever write

This would be addressed to you who

Made me feel like something more than I ever was

To you who made me strong, resilient, and real

I would be so minded to write this to you

Who birthed a million million stars in me

The damnèd universe that now wreaks havoc in me

The very glory that is all I've ever wanted to be

I would write this for the very last moment of my life

When I would see the last radiance of the Sun

The last of imperial majesty that I always desired

Such that I would entreat a last audience to revere it

This is a song that should be sung at my very end

One that rose at my birth, trembled through my life

And then crescendoed in a flagrant fire at my death

A song that was my life and became my belovèd death

This poem is the last thing I would ever write

Because I would die knowing I loved you and only you

—M.M.

I have made more mistakes

Than I have made good.

Forget the smiles and the

Warmth of her face: they are false.

I have viewed the very sun in the dark

And awaited a fiery embrace.

But whatever rolling over the hill

To the next glade is wrong, and false.

I have dreamt of her smile and kiss

Within my zero distance, my loneliness;

Wishing, yearning for paradise.

But dreams are a fever, and false.

Life is be best when filled with wonder,

And yet wandering has cursed my heart.

At last I know that all the fluttering

And the stuttering is false.

— M.M.

"Since I moved to New York City"

Since I moved to New York City and have genuinely experienced the astonishing universe of life that exists here, I can't help but acknowledge how it has changed me in certain respects. But there's one aspect I've been thinking about recently: sex, sexuality, gender, and personhood. This includes sex work, which I had an initial concept, reaction, and impression of—until I came to NYC, and that all changed significantly through something so simple as meeting people and listening to them. What a concept! I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing this, but the murder of five people at Club Q in Colorado Springs, CO, has prompted me to do so. And truthfully, as I write this, it really feels like some shitty token of condolence from a cis-male, which is disingenuous. But I want to be entirely honest about how I feel and think, so I am composing this note. It is meant to be as much for myself as it is a blazon of my love for all those that have been, and remain, maligned and discriminated against in this country and world. I've learned, and continue to learn, so fucking much from all the persons I've met over the years, particularly here in NYC, about being different from what I am. You've been some of the best, most genuine, and most multi-faceted people I've ever met. And I want to say that I'm here as an ally, a friend, and a fellow human being. Here to fight for you; here to continue fighting for you!

In the vastness

In the vastness of emptiness and darkness
I reached out

With my hand, though minuscule and corporeal as it was

I reached toward the distance

The distance, the depth of the universe

I wanted to grasp

And clasp the tumbling of atoms

As they woke

When they first woke, so long ago

When I dreamt

And saw them career in the infinity of existence

And I talked to them

My longing for nebulas and galaxies

Has made me remember

That I came, far-flung, from far away from a star

From a star, a star, my mother, my mother-sun

– M.M.

What's in a Name?

What's in a name?

A name sometimes given,

sometimes wanted,

sometimes earned.

A name serves as an anchor

of who we are, bound as we are

to the gravity of this life.

The pace of our step, through

our time here, is matched by

our name: Our name that

we carry and carries us.

I think it strange and curious

that everything we do and

everything we don't is

an utterance of our name.

Our name is so singular to us

that it could very well be

our soul incarnate.

—M.M. 

"A soft love"

A soft love
A comforting love

A sleepy love

A love that reels you into yourself

    with a song that paints the echo chambers

    of your heart

A love that seeks war

A belligerent love

A love, in its naïve hubris

    sees the folly of its daggers

A peaceful and soothing love

A love not too short-sighted

    or too blind for its own good

A love... just one love

Just one time to love and

    one time to be loved

To allow the edges of the world

    its seams, to disintegrate

A love

The Love

The Love that subsumes all

    even love itself

–M.M.

"Here's a thought"

"Here's a thought," he said to himself.

"I think we ought to think like we are

at the end of our rope." This conversation

was just him trying to unlock the locked

cage he was in. But he wasn't really sure

what to say or what to do to break free

from that cage he made for himself.

"I saw them being so, so happy. I thought of

myself like that sometimes. I mean, I don't see

why I can't be like that." It was a source of naivety

as if he were really speaking from the heart.

But it wasn't really a place he could leap to,

to become something else.

It was a plane beyond that he would have to

propel himself to; far, far beyond—beyond the ire and

the misguidedness that he was and had ever been.

It's just one cosmic ejection, one thing to vault

us far beyond ourselves, that we sometimes need;

that we, that we all, desire.

                                        –M.M.