In 2005, my parents went to visit my mom’s family in Malaysia for two weeks. I used black ink to write my notes for my book on trauma and the Russian Revolution. I went home and didn’t go back for my exams after spring holiday.īecause I felt traumatized and couldn’t write poetry anymore, I did well until Spring 2004 when I thought I was being stalked. I would’ve studied English Language and Literature. I moved to London to study English Language and Linguistics. The water washed the pollution from the burning coals off I’d been eating healthy and trying to get regular exercises since 1994īut in Spring 2003 I began swimming for an hour every morning. Made it harder for light to reflect from the cracks in the glass ball. In Spring 2003, the damage that the doctors at the hospital in 2001 had done I began putting more work into emotional balance from things I learned at AA meetings. The electricity from the metal lightbulb ***** went through wires and heated the filament between until it glowed. While that blazed the side of the cliff something lit an incandescent light. They lit a fire at the top of the glacier and pushed the burning pile of black coal off the edge,īurnt red, looking like flames falling into the valley. Tar turned to asphalt when I met someone from my old job for a drink in NovemberĪnd it paved a road for my life that went to the hospital I was in that DecemberĪnd in February after meeting her for another drink. That fall logic and epistemology classes spewed black ink all over my philosophy In 2001, I quit my job after they melted and poured tar all over my life.Īll summer literature class bathtubs filled with rose hip oil cleaned the tar. Nacre from my shell kept those cracks from getting worse, Light reflected off the salt crystal cracks. The glass ball of my life cracked inside. I know it didn’t hit the ground but it burned something in the time it was here. While my family celebrated my birthday inside.īut it didn’t look like it was coming down I watched a shooting star burn by at 100,000 miles per hour as I stood on the balcony The summer before eighth grade, July 1992, I’d open my eyes in low light until the world’s light healed rather than hurt. She said she’d never heard a baby make a sound like that. My mom called my cries when I was born the most sorrowful sound she had ever heard. Quartz, lime and salt crystals formed a glass ball. The brightest star can shine even with thick black velvet draped over it.
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