i fold the laundry
i dry the dish
i open the carport
i close the door
i type the words
but the words own me
the world owns me
the very beating of my heart owns me
it’s all very troublesome
I claw at freedom
and freedom pushes back
“don’t claw at me” she says
well, fuck.
– sheila c.
it’s night here and
the ambulances are blaring
one after the next
i wanted to give you this
in case time gets in the way
take in the air
like the first
like the last
fill your hands
with clay
with sand
with paint
fill your mouth
with lovers
with drink
with rage
but never default to revenge
eat your words
when you have to
(if you have to)
and don’t let them forget
you’re from the jungle
born from dark earth
the very clay dirt
formed by singed hands
in a coral hearth
what the fuck do they know?
-sheila c.
there’s a recklessness to everyone
but your chaos reigns
even me, in
i find myself contented
unsticking from the traps
smiling, tearing skin as I go
it feels good to feel something
it feels right to feel suffering
to be folded up and stuffed into
an envelope
flattened
whole
from nothing to something
another one,
another
slow.
sheila c.
the cardinal came by today
little flash of red pulsing life
i am jealous of his vigor
his will..
long ago I told a myself a lie
and I told it so often
i began to believe it
it exists now in the space between dreams
and stillness
a silent hum I can’t escape
respite exists only in the seconds
the second I open my eyes
the second I smell the citrus in my panicked tea
the second I type the words I need said
the second I imagine taking a last breath
and being born again
a red breast and beak and vigor
there is no respite like the seconds
but there is no punishment like them either
– sheila c.
I wanted to complain to you about Werner Herzog,
you’re the only one who would understand
but I’ll settle for picking up my phone
and pretending I’m not hoping
the algorithm will work to populate your name on my screen
I actually really hate your name
I also “loved” a dude in Germany by the same name
he’s also a heartbreaking cunt
I’m sorry, that’s actually just the hurt
lashing out
It’s been days and the change of heart that’s been keeping me sane
has not happened.
I’m starting to believe I invented this tragedy
like I do, all my tragedies
fuck it, I’m floundering, right now
BUT
In 3 weeks, I’ll move faster
I’ll have new limbs
and they’ll be so fucking dope
you won’t be able to look away
I mean that sounds pathetic but it’s not
I just want you to know that
i’m not pathetic
– sheila c.
I can hear the city bellowing outside
and Wednesday is groaning out
a lingering goodbye
I am watching your breath rise,
grateful for the air in your lungs
they sing the sun to me
they sing
and there is no longing here
not now, in this calm
there is only the bliss
etched on your skin;
permeating my own
and the sinking feeling disappearing somewhere within
I pour my hopes into a
thought
I let it sit
and learn time does stop
after all
– sheila c.
i don’t have the words
i only have a blue so wide
and alive
that it breathes on its own
this is the part i don’t like
where Bonnie sits on repeat
where day dreams are nightmares
and memories are knives
digging deeper every time i forget
to forget
I can feel the depths of estrangement pooling
in my guts
it seems
i would be the mass
and you would be the gravity
after all.
– sheila c
I dreamt that the gods picked me out of bed
and shook me violently
they had grown tired of my struggle
and breathed bravery into my lungs
i was not born ready for this
but something has changed
it was desire that made me weak
so I will take those parts you claimed
and build a new fire
a new flame to consume the old
and burn the blame
– Sheila C.
in another life,
many lives from now,
i will move you.
i will shatter the earth
beneath your feet
and you will fall so deeply
the steam will sear your lashes.
you will hope, in dismay,
for a glance
in a crowded room.
the smell of my skin
will stay trapped in your hair,
in your hands
and you will not be able to look away.
I will flood you
until you are choking with grief.
you will hurt for me,
one day,
I know.
but in this life,
it seems it is
my turn.
– sheila c.
i lived there with you
in the space between glances.
i shared the sweetness of hollow earth
and ate the green that grew
from our hearth.
there was dew on everything
from here to tops of mango trees
mangled in brackish water.
the air was so thick you could
break it open with your hands
and walk through.
I swung my arms around wildly,
as I do,
trying to meet your eyes
but you,
you moved in silence
a gentle shift of cream and blue
with every step.
at night your head would fall into my chest
and your breath would become mine
this was the climax of our story
a memory,
I will need to bury.
– Sheila C.
sheila sea 