The dying

 That the living know nothing about death, 

is not true. 

Don't tell me you haven't felt 

a little dead, 

every time someone walked 

in that door, 

and looked past you, 

like you were a ghost. 

While you had spent the evening, 

waiting, 

cooking, 

carefully toasting the sesame, 

and finding the finest Coriander, 

to go into the grind. 

Being told what's a tiff 

that gets over before 

it breaks you down to tears. 

Come on, I mean, 

haven't you ever felt buried under the silence

that follows the questions 

that you ask, 

after not having asked them 

so many times, 

for the fear that they won't be answered anyway. 

The evasion, 

to me,  it always left me asphyxsiated

in a very physical way. 

And everytime that text 

of emotional import goes unresponded, 

read but not returned. 

While every meme 

is always noticed. 

Every little word of disagreement, 

turned around into blame, 

and the claim, 

that literally everybody else

is more tolerant 

and cool about stuff! 

Don't tell me,

being denied and dismissed 

like that, 

day after day, 

it doesn't make you dead inside. 

While you keep telling yourself you are happy, 

so you don't appear unhappy to others! 

While you want to show up for yourself, 

and you know you only have this lifetime, 

but you don't, you can't. 

And to know 

it would make no difference

to be gone, 

to know you don't matter

and that you will be replaced, 

before you even know! 

What could be more 'dying' 

than this dying that we die 

little by little by little. 

The dead die, yes, 

but the living, 

how we live death!

October, 31st