connections/
connecting/
friendship/
words/
will i say the right thing?
will i do this the right way?
[you don’t need to keep auditioning
for your friendships]
connections/
connecting/
friendship/
words/
will i say the right thing?
will i do this the right way?
[you don’t need to keep auditioning
for your friendships]
the panic
sets in
seasons shift
old memories
more people than i can handle
more emotions than i capable of processing
i just want to breathe
slowly
intentionally
and not feel like it’s simply a
mask
against my true
scared
self
i suppose
a resolution
for this distraction
of über depression
would be a stronger distraction
than it
but what
but what
but what
could be stronger
than my stupid brain chemistry…?
where did these sads come from?
why do they appear
in the midst of what should be
a happy time?
how are they somehow
related
to that happy time?
like i can’t let myself
get swept up in the moment —
i need to remind myself
in every moment
of joy
that despair
and tragedy
exists.
like if i let go
of the depression
that runs everything,
the glue that holds my whole being
together
will loosen
and split
and i’ll fall
apart;
and i just want
to be
myself
[someday]
[someday]
forlorn
desolate
why can’t i be honest?
why can i never
update
realistically?
why am i so scared of being
me?
course-correcting
my sail needs some attention
there are holes and rips and i can’t seem to get the tail-wind right
and i don’t know anything about sailing
so i don’t know if i’m getting this analogy at all accurate
but i do feel
like a little sailboat
in the midst of a great ocean
trying to catch a breeze
but the winds of executive function
keep blowing right through me
watch out
i’m moody
i’m grumpy
i want to wear all black
mourn the death of this nation
that was never that great to begin with
but conceptually it had some nice ideas…
…is that the human condition?
everything looks pretty good on paper
but the moment it comes to actively
executing the ideas laid out
everything, everything, falls apart?
sometimes i write extraordinarily dark poetry
and i kind of forget
once it’s out of me
how it could be read
interpreted
ingested and understood
by others
i’m just here getting my best and worst feels
out into the void
apologies to the void
for having to ever
absorb
this profound pain
my fingers want to be busy
without input from my brain
for my mind has been doing too much time
in repetitious actions
circling points
but never quite making it to center
and my hands could do the same
but forward action
seems to actually be measurable
in physical space
and the mind is an ugly place
to obsess
about others’
imperfections
the sin of being me
is punishable
through inside and outside means
and my brain can only get so far
in forgiveness
when it’s constantly fighting against itself
and my body seems to cling to living
as it falls apart
and resolves towards innumerable lifetimes
and my soul only ever seems to
chill inside/beside
all this angst going on around and around and around
but the dark part of me
[brain?]
[heart?]
[body?]
[other?]
it keeps reminding me
that i am punishable
i should be punished
through some means
hold my beer
i’ll do it
myself
[‘if you want something done right,’
right?]