Malady Memoirs was...
The tatters of my cherished life feel too tight on my body - bloated by the pitch in my veins, slowing my heart, desaturating and fogging my machinations. I can't let it all go. The wind may fail to dance on my skin but this sack of meat must be made to be the ghost of freedom. I cease the comfort of food. I force the sweat until failure. There is no elation in this effort but the muscles begin to…
I feel the space between my cells growing. Emptiness fills and pushes between nerves and blocks the spark of feeling - signals aren't reaching their destination. Stimulus isn't creating reaction. My thoughts are slowing. Emotions are dulling. It seems wrong and dreadful like a body that once moved and laughed and cared but is now melting into the cracks in the floorboards, becoming a part of the…
I have sat and watched the waves on this colorless beach and waited. Waited for it to give back what it stole. The cold is in my bones and the hue of my skin matches the surf. It's time to leave. Just for a while I'll leave to look for something to reignite my soul. My frailty only allows for a haphazard stringing of driftwood to push out into the waters, but it's enough. I don't weigh much…
I think something left me on the beach that day. In the time after the wave knocked me into the sand, while the water drove me down, something seeped out. Something important is gone. I feel it's absence in the hollows of my eyes where a twinkle used to be, in the weight of my heart where small wings took flight, in the coldness of my skin where warmth used to flush. Give it back.
How do you reconcile frowns and disbelief while your friends fight while terrified to survive against their government? How do you balance watching loved ones cry in fear for their lives and safety but your country just shrugs and laughs about christmas gifts and song lyrics and one-liners? My friends starve and fight and wonder if they're going to be disappeared by men in masks. England and the…
We're set to repeat atrocities we swore to never forget in the span of a century with new and horrendous methods and disconnected ease, ordinance released not by triggers but by touch screens, charred bodies consoled by thoughts and prayers, debated by white men with polished teeth and pressed suits and fake tans while somehow not answering a single. fucking. question. Away from our phone screens,…
A rumbling, a distant thrumming through the blackout curtain draped over my sleeping body. It grows, amplifying and multiplying. A mighty drum. Beating hearts. The stamps of feet down streets distant but intimately familiar. The roar of voices who cannot and will not take any more, colleagues and neighbors and friends and teachers and clerks who can't stay quiet against boots on necks and guns in…
A quiet sigh and softening of focus. It feels like I'm unshouldering a heavy daypack filled with dark worry, or maybe practicing the eternal exhale- to never see another burden again.
Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good. Renee Nicole Good.
The dark isn't always scary. Sometimes it swims in me the way oil swims in light, or crows singing and dancing in the pitch gray navy of night, beaded eyes all seeing and feathers rolling like a coin betwixt smoky fingers