#88
" surreal suicide savior complex " Stanley was someone I loved, who died by suicide. I wrote this poem (muppoem #88) while remembering him and trying to heal from the loss. Ever since, I’ve been tracing the strange ways he seems to reappear in my life. The coincidences feel like more than chance—like a kind of meaning that continues, even now, beyond just a random dream. At my dear friend Stanley's memorial, I lost my voice. I did not give a speech or share any words. I could not stop crying. My brain could not understand how I was suppose to believe his body was now ashes inside an urn on a table in front of me. Nothing about that made any sense. I am not sure I even believed it actually happened still at that point. Writing some words down later and making a shrine of connections to this episode of The Muppet Show helped me (as backwards as it may seem) attempt to face reason, which Stanley was always much better at than me. & Stanley has come back t...
