My Reopened Wounds (poem)

“God reopened my wounds to have my soul revamped,

revitalized, which has left me amplified, you see”

             -“Inner Shakespeare” by Eppic ft. Edith

When I, the wanderer, returned home,

I found myself beset on all sides

by sharp-fanged memories,

reminders of death, the lost, heartbreak.

From all sides they assaulted me,

leaving me nowhere to run,

sounds of crunching metal and shattering glass,

the empty silence of a graveyard.

All the scars on my body and soul reopened,

and the memories flew into them as the blood poured.

I stumbled to my bed only to find it underground,

an open coffin waiting to be buried.

Broken, bloody, and bruised, I lay in it,

searching for rest and release,

and slowly the dirt filled in above,

hiding me away in my final moments.

The darkness of the grave consumed me,

my still bleeding wounds seething with pain,

Death approaching rapidly, hopelessly,

but I desperately clung to hope.

I shut my eyes as I was buried alive,

but in my mind's eye, I saw a light.

It seemed so far away, yet close,

a fountain of light with my name on it.

I reached out for it,

and opened my eyes to see light

it poured out of my wounds as fire,

burning passionately, holding the earth up.

They were mine, my soul's flames,

and I had forgotten about them.

I lifted my left arm up, my blood turned to fire

and the dirt above was cleared away.

As I got back to my feet,

the Flames sealed the wounds they emerged from,

but continued to burn across my body,

revitalizing me and amplifying me.

They spread all across my home,

engulfed the sharp-fanged memories and the graves,

transforming them in a flash of light

into lessons learned and strong saplings.

-Zero

My Reflections on Home (non-fiction)

      Ever since I had to move away from my childhood home to go to university, I have written quite a few pieces on 'Home' (like this and this). Some of these I have shared on here, poems and short stories mostly, as well as reflections such as “Dear Desk”. Back in late 2014, I even wrote a non-fiction piece as part of some CBC books writing event on Places of Belonging. I kept that piece a secret from those I knew due to its biographical nature. It was online for a while, but it seems that it, along with most of the others, has been taken down. To be honest, there is a part of me that would like to post that non-fiction piece, even after all this time, but I think it's best for now to keep it to myself.

      Anyways, in the last few years, I have moved out of my childhood home to go four and a half hours away to study. I've lived on campus in residence and spent two years in an apartment with a roommate, only to recently return to my childhood home. I've felt the pangs of homesickness, both at university and even at my childhood home. That sense of belonging was in flux. 

      When I first arrived at university, I felt alright, but that first night was one of homesickness. In all honesty, it didn't last terribly long. The people were friendly and I quickly built a whole life there. But as I would learn when I returned to my childhood home, that shifted my sense of belonging.

      For three years, every time I would return, I would find myself feeling as if I didn't belong in the place I grew up in. I was so out of touch with my old friends and no matter what I did, I couldn't help but to feel like I didn't quite belong there anymore. My place, my home, was four and a half hours away. Well, there are exceptions to this, one especially that is outlined in the aforementioned non-fiction piece, but that is for another time.

      As a consequence, I tried to escape from this place, hide myself in fictional worlds, whether of my own creation or not. But in the past three years, a lot changed here. There was the Crash, which changed the very makeup of my family forever, and the year after, I lost one of my oldest friends unexpectedly. It was no longer just not feeling like I belonged.

      Home had become a graveyard. It was buried under miles of memories that were spread over everything. They seemed to suffocate the life out of everything, leaving it all empty and only room for sorrow and loss. Every time I returned, I could feel my mind slowly being lost to it all, to the emptiness of it all, the absence of those who were once always present.

      So when I returned, I clung to symbols for that life back at my university, whether loves of mine or close friends across the world. I was standing half buried in a graveyard, and they felt like a hand extending out to me just waiting to pull me free and return me home. And, surely enough, eventually I was freed and returned to my apartment so far away from that place that felt like a graveyard.

      But as I packed up my things to leave that apartment forever, I didn't feel as if I was leaving home. I knew that I had to leave eventually and that my time out there was up. And when I returned, that graveyard had disappeared. It was home again. It had changed since the last time it felt that way, but it was home.

      It's strange. It went from being buried underneath memories of the past to being bright with the future. While I still have some time away, farther than I've ever been, this place will remain home and I know it's here that I begin to build my future. I apologize for all the references without information, but maybe I'll even be lucky enough to get that aforementioned place of belonging back, or, rather, to go back to it again. We will see, and maybe one day I'll share that non-fiction piece with others.

      Anyways, I think I've gone on for long enough. It seems that these feelings of belonging and home can be as fickle as I have been known to be in the past. I guess all I can do is just accept it and learn to follow them. But this is enough for now. Take care. Until next time,

-Zero

The February Freeze

      It's incredible how when you're focused on something, your surroundings can almost disappear. As I walked through the February freeze, I barely noticed my fingers slowly being encased with ice. My face became that of a wax statue and I hadn't noticed. My mind was elsewhere, wherever Morgan was, my fiance. 

      I hadn't seen her in a week, not since she left. I knew where she was the whole time. She yelled it at me as she slammed the door behind her, but I couldn't bring myself to go right away, even though I wanted to. Instead I spent the week playing with the polished obsidian stone she gave me not long after we met. She told me that it would absorb negative energies so I should hold onto it in tough times. 

      Only thing is that as much as I held onto it, I didn't feel any better. I only felt worse and worse about what had happened between us, that it had gotten to the point that she walked out on me, leaving me alone in our apartment. After a week, I had enough and I knew I had to go try and get her back. So, I started walking.

      I spent the whole hour long walk talking to myself. I played out every possible situation, everything she could say, and how I could reply. I meticulously worked out every detail, what I would say, when I would say it, and how she would react. My voice trembled as I talked it out to myself, my mind wandering to the thought of returning to our apartment alone. 

      My heart nearly stopped when the door opened in front of me and our eyes met. She had dark bags underneath her cinnamon eyes. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She hesitantly motioned for me to come in. 

      I didn't take off my shoes and stood at the door. Only a couple lights were on in the entire apartment and the winter darkness had already infiltrated it. She stood a few feet away, as if afraid to come any closer to me.

      “Morgan...” I muttered, my eyes staring at the floor when they should have been looking her in the eyes.

      “Benji, save it.” She asserted weakly as she stepped out of sight. “You know this was all a mistake...”

      “We can work through this...” I breathed in denial. “I'll do whatever it takes...”

      She came back around the corner with something in her hand. The dim light of the apartment reflected off of her wet cheeks as she walked towards me slowly, shaking her head. 

      She took my hands in hers and said, “you say that every time and we still end up right back where we started.” Her cinnamon eyes dropped to our hands. She opened one of my palms and put something inside of it. “But it's time we throw in the towel. I'm sorry.” 

      My fingers clenched around the ring in my palm. My heart raced and my perfect plan disappeared from my mind. It was all coming to an end.

      “I love you.” I blurted out in hopes that it might change her mind as my knees went weak at the idea of walking out of the apartment alone.

      “I know...” She breathed as she nodded, new tears falling from her face like the first drops before a thunderstorm. “But that's just not enough. I'm sorry.”

      “But...” I began, but she shook her head immediately and opened the door, the freezing air surging into the dark apartment from behind me. 

      “Goodbye, Benji.” She whispered painfully.

-Zero

The Petal and the Wind (poem)

Once upon a time,

there grew a beautiful cherry blossom tree

in the heart of a wide open field.

All along its branches grew flowers,

pink and purple petals in spring,

waiting for the wind to carry them away.

One day, in early spring,

when the petals had only just emerged,

a warm southern wind swept one away.

The wind and the petal became friends,

as they danced through the world,

but then the wind disappeared.

Others came and carried it for a while,

maritime breezes, continental gusts,

but the petal still wanted to go back.

It wondered why so many winds must blow

when only one really mattered to it,

the warm southern wind it called home.

But that wind was far gone,

off rustling the mountainside

and stroking the flames of new fires.

And all that petal could do was wait,

and hope that one day,

the southern wind might return.

-Zero