irregular

(1/2)

i feel like i am drowning but maybe that is just life

in the deepest ocean and on the longest road

i am sinking, i am running, i am reeling

 

why don’t they love me like i love them

i need them to hold me but they are not here

they never were and that is so like me

 

there is a woman who lives inside me

she says she loves me and her name is rose

i don’t know how to find her most of the time

but she suggests that I should be a little more kind

 

(2/2)

i always thought i was kind

i thought i was so many things

but lately, i think of me and i think of nothing

 

when i am like this

i don’t look people in the eye

i am afraid of what they might see

i am afraid they will see what i see

nothing

 

there is a certain beauty in sadness

at least there is something there to look at

something to hide behind

when you can’t hide behind a lie

 

two poems

#1

 ​london you got me thinkin

i already know ya

but you don't know me

and i don't know you

even though i see your people on the green

what does it really mean... anything?


 for all your parks

and all your roses

what do you have to show

but for your masses of gray

transporting, mowing through the jungle

concrete in the main

 

#2

There are no words coming

No words to fill that hole

They are gone like a skeleton

Crashing to the floor


 A bone crawls

See it in the darkness

It is the littlest of bones

A finger perhaps


 It crawls across the floor, skriitch-skraatch

Skriitch-skraatch

Trying to make purchase on the wood

Grasping for others, an answer, a word


 Skriiitch, it comes to a stop with one hollow tap

And then silence engulfs it, no words surround it

No words ever come, gone with the bones

A skeleton that just can't take form

Poems & Frustrations

there are bigger worlds than you, my dear
there are more things for you to see out there
than your oceans and your fears

and your dreams, my god do they control you?
do they haunt you, do they taunt you
or do they set you free?

the world is your oyster, but it is not your seed
it doesn't owe you a god damn thing

Today I am frustrated.  Because I can’t get that poem that I’ve been working on for weeks quite right. Because the internet I just got isn’t working on my phone, and I don’t know why. Because, after leaving the poem, I took a shower and gave into the urge to just lay on the floor and feel the cold water hit my skin, like it could wash it away. I would be nothing but bones and meat and blood then.

After uncurling myself from the floor of the tub, I curled myself onto the couch, and wondered how tight of a ball I had to make with my body in order to disappear.

Maybe identity theft would be a better option.

I find myself only writing about the pretty parts of life, or maybe the ugly parts if they’ve taught me a pretty lesson, but the truth is, life isn’t pretty. I have an illness which, no matter how many steps I take to conquer, always seems to be there, crawling in the back of my mind and overtaking my body when I feel alone.

Alone is how I feel today.

I feel silly, unloved, a burden to my friends and my family and to society. No one has ever wanted to be more than just friends, and my silly brain tells me they don’t even want that, really. They’re just being polite. They don’t text me back because they don’t like me, not because they have lives of their own. But I want to feel his arms around me again, or her hand in mine again.

I’ve been meaning to go to the bank for a week now, but it’s a 20 minute drive each way, and when I get back I’ll have to fill out paperwork and then do an interview to get my name on the lease. I’m scared they’ll say I can’t stay here and kick me out. I don’t want to end up on the street. I know I won’t end up on the street – I have family that would take me in – but I don’t want to be kicked out. I don’t want to be kicked out.

Please don’t kick me out.