May 16th: Two Instances of Being Alive by Havalah Mauzey

Summer Isolation

it’s a beautiful hour, just 5 o’clock
what with the sun and the green leaves
that clap in the slow breeze
with a gentle or thunderous shaa—
the bees, i know, are hovering from flower to flower
the squirrels are chattering, clambering
through the branches of the old pine trees
as the world is bright and warm.

i am alone in my room
laying still and heavy, breathing a steady rhythm
my chest leaded and my eyes wandering, dispassionate
from wall to wall, floor to ceiling.
this is my cage, and i lock myself here
in hopes that someday i may wish to stand
to wander
to leave the walls and ceilings and floors.

the windows are bright with sunlight
the blinds creating stripes on the blankets.
the peals of laughter from neighboring children
rouse me just enough to know that the world is real.
my head is too heavy to lift, so it stays where it lays
my mind is adrift in the hazy disparity of despondency—

it’s a beautiful hour, just 6 o’clock,
and i am alone in my room.

Bystander Effect

I read a sentence once on reddit
that shifted my view
of the world
written by an account that posts
every now and again
personal words, raw from the heart,
desperate, alone
reaching out,
barely heard.

Their posts are always
titled things like,
SAVE ME
SOMEBODY SAVE ME
SOMEONE MUST SAVE ME SOMEDAY.

This entry was titled
“Get a taste of hell
and you’ll crave it
for the rest
of your life.”

Their comment read,
“I’m on fire,
there is no freedom
like hell.”

And I said,
“Oh.”

I wanted to tell them
that their words moved me
without making it out to be
that their suffering
was art
worth admiring,
and I was appreciating it
like the ones before me
who did terrible things.

So I said nothing,
and they were alone
to post again,
pleading
for someone to save them.

I don’t think anyone will
not because they don’t deserve it
but instead because they do
and no one knows how to.