Are memories formed within the exact moment we experience them?
Can a split second simultaneously become the past and present as the neurons in our brains try to differentiate between the now and then?
Are we able to remember the details of everything happening to us as if they have already happened?
How do we know where the timelines truly begin?
Or when the memories actually end?
Author: Ash Ochoa Poetry
You'll figure it out.
Secrets
Part of me is desperate to write it all down and spill my secrets like fluid across every inch of my notebook.
That piece of me craves a cathartic release from every corrupt thought and moment that I've ever had.
Yet if all those fragile fragments are expelled from my head they no longer belong to me...
And there's nothing to gain from that.
My secrets are sacred...
For they have created the version of myself that only I will ever be able to know.
Shadows
Parked
For twenty seconds
I parked on the tracks.
Even without a train in sight
I felt my mortality being threatened, vulnerable and exposed between
those oxidized iron rails.
My mind,
pulsating with adrenaline,
screamed at me to move
from the precipice of danger
with each ragged breath.
Yet for twenty selfish seconds
I kept myself there.
Stagnant and stupid.
Wide-eyed and white-knuckled.
Fern Shadow
Dark Hedges Estate
Thorns
Thoughts become embedded
into my brain like thorns.
They bury their sharp edges
deep into the vulnerable seams
of my subconscious,
silently smirking at their inability
to be removed.
Over time I forget about them
as they lie there quietly,
dormant in their watchful wait.
Their presence swiftly returning
the second my mind
starts to stir.
Words
Words have a lasting impact,
even the most seemingly insignificant ones.
Simple sentences morph into occult scars
that radiate with permanence and persistence within our heads.
Intrusive echoes left to remind us
of days long past and moments long gone.
Mere words become our
blessings and burdens.
Easily spoken,
yet impossible to forget.
Wasting Water
Tonight the anxiety has come without cause. My head is loud, I can’t focus, I’m nauseated and nervous for no real reason. At least not one I can pinpoint.
I probably should eat, turn on something with sound, do anything besides ruminate on the million miniscule issues I’ve created in my head.
I need to relax, but I’m like the least relaxed person that I know… My head is just too active I think. I can imagine that when I’m like this the synapses in my brain are just firing off at an unfathomable speed. It’s literally everything and nothing running though my mind all at the same time.
I’m breathing. Typing. Fan is fucking whirling. The sink is on for white noise. But now I’m just wasting water. Water is precious. Isn’t California in a drought? Someones got to be in a drought. I’m a fucking asshole. I should turn off the damn water…
There’s a prime example of my intrusive, rambling thoughts.
Endless. Pointless. Basically stupid.
Should I keep this in my drafts? Probably. But why do I care? I don’t. So post it. Read it tomorrow. Get a laugh out of it. Maybe someone will giggle. Shit… I’ll at least enjoy it tomorrow when my head has mellowed.
I do feel better now. My odd narratives usually make me quite happy. I’m going to eat now. 🙂
-Hal
Retellings
Sometimes you begin to tell me a story that you've already told me, but I let you continue.
I just nod, smiling, appearing as though everything you're telling me is brand new. Yet if I'm being honest, I don't truly listen to the words. I listen just enough so that I seem attentive, I keep my responses bland and short.
However, I use those times to study you, encapsulate your voice, absorb all your mannerisms and expressions. I watch the way you create each syllable rather than hear the meaning behind them. I focus on everything about you except the content of your speech.
For those precious moments I will never stop you from retelling me your story.
I'm simply grateful to be able to hear you tell them to me twice.
AO Poetry 
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