Grief

My first assignment in Intro to Drama was to create a mask displaying who I protrayed on the outside and how I really felt on the inside. Of course since this is my semester of catharsis I chose to dedicate this mask to my grief.

The picture on the inside was taken before it was finished, the blue bands wrap around and grip between the spikes on the completed project.

I also wrote a poem as below.
Grief is revisiting me again so I felt the need to share this. Just feels like I will never really be able to enjoy the wind or the sun or the rain again the way I could before.

Friend of Mine

Oh but if grief were a friend of mine
just the hollow tears that salt my face
in mindless lines they march in sequence
burning, scarring and ripping way
grief too soon is categorized weary
stooping low till waste side lays
clutching gutters with brave arterial
arms that soon are slaves the same.

Oh but if grief were just those hollow tears
brought on by thoughts of you throughout the day
and sadness were as blue as seaside horizons
salty air and my face the brave.
We were friends, so I thought, till grievance
broke my spine and filtered my veins
removed the warmth that says I am living
with frozen bones and ice cold rivers
nothing like my faulty tear drops
Warm and comfortable and just a way to drain.

If grief were but a fraction of assumption
balled up, knees to chest, wrapped in compliance
This part is only a phase
tomorrow you will feel angry, then bargain
and with the will of time and a strong alliance
you will stand up straight.

But my spine is fractured, my skin too narrow
Parts of me frozen solid and unable to fray
my face is marred, my thoughts too muddled
and memories feel like jagged blades.
No grief is no friend, nor foe, nor enemy’s game
just the calamity that the whole of me claims

Grief, you can never be a friend
these low pressure faucets trickling cleanliness
down my muddy face.
Like a mindless faction salutes and obeys
seizing cities and now remains.
Their boots digging deep into the soil
like marching tear drops lined in sequence
dim and inconsequential till the grief emerges.

Strikes me entirely till I am collapsed and insubstantial
No longer into my tears I escape
if others knew you so well grief they would surely tremble
just the tap of your cold finger tip
would knock the stride of a giant’s pace.
Kelly Curiel
January 28, 2009