I became in a family way when I was 17. My foster mother started to accuse me of sleeping with her jobless boyfriend and changed the locks, leaving me to sleep outside many nights when they went out to clubs. I reported it to services, my teachers, and my nurses. I told my health teacher that I felt the stress affecting my child. I trusted him, I had no one. He told me not to worry.
At 30 I began to explore epigenetics and the research suggesting that trauma can be passed down through generations. Epigenetics translates literally to “above genetics”, referring to external modifications to a person’s programming. I say programming because that’s how it makes sense to me. If you’re familiar with binary, how the 1’s and 0’s turn lines of code on or off, outside forces can do this to traits within us, turn them on and off.
If you’ve created a child at any time, the 1’s and 0’s within you get passed down as they exist in that moment. In short: these modifications do not change the DNA sequence, but rather, they affect how cells “read” genes. I think about the shared trauma in the world and how it’s sinister nature infects the future; contaminates quite literally the gene pool. Ignorance is certainly not bliss.
i am a sentimental physicist. observing the gravity of emotion. noting the subtle lensing of light, as it filters passed you and distorts my star weary eyes. i must crunch the equations & check them twice before i don aluminum, endure your endless cold, & shoot for your moon.• ○.
⁂⁖ . the mass effect of you consumes. hypothesis: your spirit’s path is visible light, racing towards a cosmic wall; to decorate galactic sky as microwave impressionism. •°.
. to make sense of your dark, i spend my nights measuring boundless black matter that surrounds us. enraptured by the scented skyline prophesying: jet propulsion, serenaded, and lemonade rainfall; Armageddon upon another acid planet. your pain upon the reaches still unpinned by travelled telescopes; dying technologies making me jealous of all the places where the universe sees the parts of you i am physically incapable of being. ° •.
⁖⁕ . as love moves in ellipticals it eclipses my heart, eventually. always, the awe never ceases to inspire me. invokes my muse. devote my life to translating the beauty of its euphoria into the English vernacular. ceaselessly. to release the burden of it’s memory like the sun burned into my retinas. i compose & compute each intangible equation. nuance comprises itself onto endless notations. converting numbers, filtered through my limbic system, into colloquial prose. closest words to illustration, as my cerebellum can surmise. • . •°.
•. code the sentences unto my poems; my theories of everything. presenting my poetry to everyone as my thesis. phantoms obsessing my mind my only tangible evidence. am i still the only person who can see how perfect we are? the only person who sees our future written in the stars?
i had just read a brief history of time. remember that night? cosmic vertigo took hold of my insides, i quit cigarettes that instant, i crushed my last pack and i declared, to you, that death takes everything.
stephen hawking explained: the universe will have an end just as it has a beginning. so having no more time to waste i told you i loved your face more than any other faces and if there was to be even the tiniest trace of me left behind i wanted it to be the way i felt for you that night.
you blew smoke rings from stitched lips, and i talked in circles around you. bleary and bloodshot our eyes closed. you maybe never read stephen hawking but i know we both ran like bandits from sleep.
I talked about how Robert Jordan said, “the wolves had no notions of time the way men did, no reasons to divide the day into hours” how the seasons and the day from night were all they needed. you had a wolf grin and would reveal a smoldering smile.
earthy smell of marijuana permeated your beard and seasoned our tongues. *omitted, wasn’t it really something? being young and together the way we were. smoke stacked to the ceiling and the lamp glow casted halogen haloes around our heads. don’t you agree how the sun always set too soon?
i’ve watched the stars, since, hoping the universal flow might be reversible. i assure you they tell me nothing of what will remedy any earthly turmoil. especially not that of someone like me, so small and so alone.
though, i love you so deeply when i set my eyes upon you my pupils pool wide as i embrace the pressure of your body’s presence wrapping steadily abound my every bone’s soft marrow: i don’t dare proclaim that your love i know, nor that the love i feel could ever heal a single mortal’s bones. despite all it’s desperation and wonder, the emptiness that swells my soul like a cavity could never be filled by anyone other than me.
when i divide my life into fleeting seasons i recall how the spring loves flowers so greatly, it lifts me every year without fail from the winter blues. yet, the winter still claims every petal and every leaf, eventually. just as my warmth is always devouring the cold weather you breathe. the motions wait for no one, time is a lethal thief.
though my brain wanders towards you and my limbs creek like the branches of trees, fingers empty of your touch like the winter misses spring leaves. i know you were a season and i needed to grow alone.
still the movements of time and her changing seasons, this bitter wisdom that has come from age and grace, nor these emotions that crash like waves cannot keep me from reminiscing so sweetly how we spent entire days and nights: undressed, wearing only one another, or how the sun came up too soon… *darling, i want more time with you.