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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?

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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

Glimmer (041819)

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

tell me what you thought about when you were gone…

i’m the original grass

that wasn’t green enough

and i don’t understand

why you’re singing

one of my favorite songs

but you’re still sleeping

away from home

two nights a week

i’m not the one

and you’re never in love

i’m never honest

and she’ll never be enough

every other line

is a lie

and i’m still broken

still in love

with a backpack full

of bricks

waiting for you

and i to lay them down

R: “It’s gonna be ok.”

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.

Reflecting on My Metaphor

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

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struggling faith

lost and distant

please find me, Jesus

i’m searching

for You

 

where are you?

i know

this won’t last

“joy in the morning”

and all that

but still,

 

i’m reaching

just a lost sheep

little black sheep

with mud

on her face

 

i’ve been

here before

and found

my way again

following Your light

 

i know

You never give up

on those You call

Yours,

like me

 

look for me

until

i remember:

i am

Yours

Dialogues

Self: Brain, why are you broken?

Brain: i was born this way.

Self: could you have been helped long ago?

Brain: perhaps, but no one believed there was anything wrong with me.

Self: i did.

Brain: but even you doubted.

Self: what can i do now?

Brain: the only way is to work against me. fight me.

Self: why can’t you just let me win?

Brain: that’s not how i work.

A Story In the Air (102018)

i saw him on a Thursday

found out his story was tragic on Friday

knew why on Saturday

his birthday was Tuesday

i didn’t know then

he was beautiful

 

beautiful boy, what are you running from?

i don’t think he even knows the answer to that question

post-traumatic stress

and the things he can’t forget

 

i am so sorry

but i am sure they all miss you terribly

i, too, am mentally ill

and i know they’d miss me still

 

i’m four days older than you

but some things are more the same

we have two sons

we couldn’t make it work

running away doesn’t sound so bad

sometimes things don’t make sense

 

and i’m desperately trying

to handle your story with care

i am a story-catcher and

a storyteller

 

beautiful boy, you are not alone

beautiful boy, i wish i could see

you smile

 

please go home

they’re waiting for you

California will always remember you

but Ohio’s heart breaks

beautiful boy, go