Anthems, Mantras, and other borrowed words

“I’m singing at a funeral tomorrow

for a kid a year older than me,

and I’ve been talking to his dad

it makes me so sad when I think too much

about it I can’t breathe.

And I have this dream

where I’m screaming under water,

while my friends are waving from the shore

and I don’t need

you to tell me what that means

I don’t believe in that stuff anymore.”

Funeral by Phoebe Bridgers

Some other worlds are under water

and others are just under new stuff.

Some memories of ourselves are

out of focus,

and others are just difficult to see.

Many things are hard.

In part because of timing,

and surroundings,

and armor we keep on

regardless of how many times

we’re told we’re safe.

Regardless of whether we’re safe,

whether or not we’re who we wear it for.

There are reasons, and stories,

below sadnesses,

and especially between friends.

Drawn in like pen outlined lyrics

on a gym floor,

or a weight room,

or a forearm,

or a leg

pretending this pen writing on it is a needle,

and this inked message important.

Skin tells stories anyway.

Not often happy ones.

Where the vision of shore keeps you going,

and the presence of water pulls you down,

distance elapses,

and for how long?

The span of a phone call,

the length of a song,

the time it takes to drive to school,

the minutes between waking up

and opening your eyes.

The minutes after the last time you closed them.

Humming,

as lips coat themselves

with enough wetness and pressure

to release a sound that builds to something.

Between the time of building,

and the moment of not finding the bridge.

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Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.

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Amanda Lindamood

Amanda Lindamood

Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.

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