Sitting on our neighbor’s couch
Kinda drunk
Sure if I lay my head down
I’ll fall asleep
And she’ll embarrassingly wake me
I’m waiting for you
To come home
To bring our little ones
I’m afraid I’ll fall for you tonight
Crawl into your bed
Beg you to love me
Or at least pretend you do
I miss you
It’s not the voice of the wine
It’s me
The very heart of me
All of me loves all of you
Every damn bit
All I have is showers and coffee and writing. And sometimes I’m sure I can’t even write anymore. And sometimes the water doesn’t get hot enough. And I can’t make the coffee taste right lately. So what is there left for me?
failing and flailing thru this life grasping for your hand but i can’t find it in the dark even though it is clearly right in front of me and you’re waiting and waiting for me to interlace my fingers with yours so that you can keep my head above water for me because it seems that you don’t want me to drown afterall perhaps because you still want to put me back together but how can you even do that when you don’t know where i’ve hidden all the glass and bloody words that used to be my heart you’re collecting them all in a pretty vase but i can never be whole again because somethings will forever be lost some girls will forever be broken and shredded
You give me a glimmer of hope
And I do not believe
It is false hope
Your hands linger when they shouldn’t
Where they shouldn’t
If you’re a little drunk
You’re more honest than you intend
You said you believe in me
I believe you – you were drunk
I thought about hugging you
And you hugged me
As if you knew I was thinking it
We speak without saying words at all
Your eyebrows-
And I close my eyes
And you’re right – I know
You tell me everything
When anyone looking in
Would’ve thought you were silent
I don’t usually click the “create new post” button on here and write what’s on my mind, I have done so occasionally, but it is much more common for me to flip thru the pages of one of my journals and pick a poem or other short written piece that I know I haven’t published yet and throw it up on here. But once in a while I need the feeling of my thumb flying across the screen of my smart phone, trying to tell as much as I can of whatever story literally just happened to me. Tonight there is one of those stories, but the words are getting stuck somewhere, maybe in my biceps, and aren’t making it to my thumbs. In the past 3 hours I’ve cried 4 times. I felt like a burden on the people who were being so generous and giving me a ride, I felt like a nuisance as I stated my opinion and my experience while surrounded by a group of women who are more mature than me both in physical years and in faith, I had an outburst when the topic of discussion hit close to home, I wanted to tell a story but there wasn’t time, and by defending my crazy I only made myself appear more crazy. I’m sure whatever I said tonight was incoherent and I can’t explain it away. And yesterday in an effort to just enjoy a conversation with a friend, I gave her all sorts of details that it seems she is collecting in order to pass judgement on my life choices and recommend all sorts of ways to fix my life. Well, the truth is lady, i just wanted to have another adult to talk to, I didn’t need for you to tell me that I need to be on meds for my mental illness and for you to claim youve seen my behavioral extremes, when really you’ve only ever seen me depressed, some days I just don’t let the depression crush my whole day and I am able to laugh and I don’t lock myself inside my house for weeks at a time, just because I put on clean clothes and earrings does not mean my depression is gone and just because I talk about something I am excited about does not mean I am having a manic episode. But this post is just more incoherent crazy person babble, reinforcing that I am in fact having some sort of episode related to my mental illness. Eff it, Im too tired to fix me right now, tomorrow has a chance and so do i.
My heart beats faster
Than it should
As i lay next to you
And i notice a change in your breath
It’s ’cause we both know we want more
Than just laying next to each other
And we know we’ll give in
To a certain point
Suddenly your lips are nearly touching
My lips
And you make no move to move away
And i ask you if you wish you could kiss me
You take a few nervous breaths
Before you answer-
Yes and more (i’m paraphrasing)
And then we let everything happen
Except the kiss
And everything else you said
Like all the little things you do
How you ask me how i’m doing
How you encourage me to get out of bed
How you let me know when you’ll be home
How you celebrate my small wins
Though those are even few and far between
i lose more than i win
Always failing
And i forget to see
Your micro love
And all that you do for me
True love isn’t in the grand gestures
It’s in the everyday ones
And in the way you softly say,
“hey”
we swallow the things that hurt us most
and if we never spit them out
they could kill us
but most of us choose to force them down
chase them with whatever vice comes to hand easiest
and even when presented with a way
to release them
we still choose to hold every ounce of
them deep within ourselves
they burn holes in our guts
and eat away at our hearts
like battery acid
eaten by a stupid puppy dog
who was too dumb not to
even though everyone told her it was poison
and to stay far away from it
lest she die
from swallowing all the dangerous things
And suddenly I loved you.
I know I should have always,
I just didn’t though.
You loved me too soon
and I loved you too late.
If only we could have met in the middle.
And suddenly we are finding out what we mean
to each other.
I can’t hear the truth because it will break
my heart
my hope
my “us”.
I hold on too tight;
teach me to let go.
i am a typewriter and someone else is pressing the keys
i am a match that won’t light
i am yarn, frayed and unraveling
i am glue that never dries
i am words written backwards
i am a stone that can’t skip
i am lukewarm coffee
i am a pen out of ink
i am an empty spool of thread
i am a threadbare sweater
i am a left sock without a right
i am a flower, always wilting
i am written in an unspoken language
i am all consonants and no vowels
i am a broken vase, not yet mended with gold
i am a butterfly with broken wings
i am an owl without voice
i am loaded scales with no counter weights
Anonymous in Cali 