buddy wakefield

I have realized that the moon
did not have to be full for us to love it.
That we are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it.
That if my heart
really broke
every time I fell from love,
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now.
But hearts don’t break, y’all,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9 – 1 – 1.
Tell them I’m having a fantastic time.
—  Buddy Wakefield - “We Were Emergencies
Let it go. Leave it alone. Let it pass. Let it be. Laissez-faire. C’est la vie. What’s done is done. Hang up on it. Land the plane. Don’t get on that train. The bus has already left. This too shall pass. Shake it off. Cut your losses. Bust loose. Break free. It’s water under the bridge. What goes around comes around. Go around. Get over it. Get it together. Get a grip. Get moving.
Keep moving. Move on. Move forward. Forward.
—  NewYear’s resolution as told by Buddy Wakefield

Listen, I know there were days you wanted to die

when the sky was so clear
you’d stand obnoxious underneath it
begging for stars to shoot you
just so you could feel at home.

I know about the ways you misplaced all the right words,
stockpiled every important social cue you ever missed
from the first time you learned you were wrong,
waited to make it right
once everyone stopped watching.

I know you let them beat up your beauty in bed
because redemption was still alive in you, howling relentless, gathering strength.
Felt like ecstasy when they pounded it out of you in the hard dark.
Those days of dead weather
got all strung together
and they spoke for you,
wore you down to telling everyone here it was a good life
so you could run back into the wails of your windfight.

I know the parts of your past that haunt you the most
are the days you weren’t being yourself,
and I know that’s why most of your past haunts you.
There were so many who found you out,
and they were right.
You were good.

So
un-
numb.

—  Buddy Wakefield, “Healing Hermann Hesse”
We can stick anything into the fog and make it look like a ghost.
But tonight let us not become tragedies.
We are not funeral homes
with propane tanks in our windows
lookin’ like cemeteries.
Cemeteries are just the Earth’s way of not letting go.
Let go.
Tonight, poets, turn your ridiculous wrists so far backwards
the razor blades in your pencil tips
can’t get a good angle on all that beauty inside.
Step into this
with your airplane parts
move forward
and repeat after me with your heart:
I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.
Make love to me
like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow
I’m new to this,
but I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop
without jumping.
I have realized that the moon
did not have to be full for us to love it,
that we are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it,
that if my heart
really broke
every time I fell from love
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now.
But hearts don’t break, y’all,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9 – 1 – 1.
Tell them I’m havin’ a fantastic time.
—  We were emergencies by Buddy Wakefield
It is more than some sellable cliché
that – through these bodies – we are rooted to the same source,
that we have arrived on this planet to experience form.
Now that we’ve had some time to do that, please,
let us reintroduce the idea of questioning *everything.*
Excessive packaging.
Breeding. Identity. Fining people
because they didn’t have enough money in the first place.
Everything impractical to the eradication of suffering.
—  Buddy Wakefield