Paused in a time vacuum that could either swallow me up, or cruelly leave me floating–
I feel like a gaping hole of need, wanting and taking and remaining unfulfilled…
…and I know I got myself here, with a lot of help from ideals that bled through their tourniquets for too long–
I’m cutting them out so I can grab them with my hands, obliterate them at last, and finally move on within the relief of realism.
I have dreams of fried chicken, orchards, shade from the heat, rows of marijuana leaves growing strong under the sun behind the trees,
and real, lasting love.
Depression is a misnomer, really–
oppression is more accurate for this thing that
seemed to sneak up behind me
and tangle me so tortuously with its thick invisible paws,
and its heavy, wet towel skin,
and its skyscraper body wider than the sea.
I’m too much when everything is quiet.
(being alone is fun.)
It took so much effort just to wake up–
Hope bounced back then, but she’s disappeared again and left me bereft, and it’s only mid-morning…
I’ll wait around for her to come back my way–
How I long for her to sneak up beside me and say, “look at that–isn’t that cool?”
I should be filled with beautiful thoughts, but I’ve managed to use them up again. It’s only lunchtime!
No one can save me but Hope, and she’s gone to lunch or to the movies again. Why doesn’t she ever say when she will be back? Afraid to leave the house because I’m not sure if she has a key…
Hope could have gone on a long vacation, tired of me, needing a break. Maybe she’s sunning herself on a rock somewhere, drinking a Pina Colada and laughing.
My mouth tastes like death, and I’m cold. Maybe I really have the flu and should go back to bed…
I want to go back home. I want to start over. I want to feel and not have it explode in my face–
Nothing works right here!
Everything breaks when you use it!
This is new; this had been here forever–
Seeing it is the new part.
Seeing is not judging or wanting.
It is new to just appreciate.
My real things were here all along, and I just didn’t see them–
My days are counting the change in the couch to buy cigarettes, and pawning my great aunt’s ring, and not driving too much to save gas, and bouncing my health insurance check…
…and staring into myself hard enough to see the darkness and the light, knowing that my efforts may not earn me a reprieve or a dollar in time for me to retain my independence,
but also knowing that’s not why the effort is worth it anyway.
Shut Yourself Up
you are too intense. you make people tired.
why do you take everything so seriously? why is it so important to understand it all?
you should be quiet. you’re dominating the conversation again.
do you need to be the center of attention? can’t you learn to sit still?
you make people tired, they don’t want to analyze everything.
why don’t you just go write it down? why don’t you just keep it under your bed?
you are too intense for yourself, you make yourself sick–
too much thinking about the wrong things can do that,
you should just go watch tv.
It is almost harder to describe or make sense of than actually just going through.
Having come out on the other side, having the chance to explain, and not knowing how…
Is it that the words disappeared with it when it was over?
Or that the vocabulary to describe it left when my brain became stable?
That the cost of surviving is keeping the whole thing a secret?
More Coming Soon!
Thank You for Reading, Y’all!