Posts for June 9, 2019

When the doctor listens

to my heart

she hears in there

the man walking

from room to room,

cleaning up,

moving furniture,

taking down photos

and hanging new ones

in their place.

I get tired easily,

I explain as her

hand explores

my stomach.

You should eat less

fruit, she tells me.   

The man in my heart

lies on the floor

in the kitchen

now that no one

is listening.

He taps his head

on the tile.

Do you feel depressed?

Anxious sometimes.

What does it feel like?

Like I haven’t been

breathing and have

to remind myself

how it’s supposed

to be done again.

Does it happen when

you are around people?

Mostly when alone.

How is your social life?

The man in my heart

raises his fist, flips

up his middle finger.

It’s okay, I guess.

She wants to know

how many times

a week I do

certain activities:

give someone a hug

talk to my mom

walk outside barefoot

drink directly from the tap

think about death positively

rub my shins

air dry after a shower

Approximations are the best I can do.

I’d like to take another listen she asks more than tells.

I know it’s not the best time, for the man in my heart,

but I raise my shirt once more. The doctor finds him

singing. It would be beautiful, if he wasn’t so bad at it.

If we kept track of every time
I hid inside my room
instead of hanging out
with you
Or rolled my eyes
Or asked a question
Without listening to the answer
it would seem like I didn’t love you.

But I do love you
Imperfectly

In the only way
A selfish woman knows
How. Which must sound
Just as weak as my love
Might feel.

But I’m trying
Everyday

So tomorrow
I will put aside the excuses
And shake myself out of the
Habit of treating you like
You’ll last forever

Because everyone knows
The years go fast.

I wish your memory
would pack up
and leave here
to where you went
instead of haunting
these wild green hills

Thank God, you love me.
Even when I’m drunk.
Wasted potential

I embrace the chaos.

My life was never a calm sea.

I have weathered the roughest of waters,

But, I’ve found strength in the depths.

I remember what those before me have preached,

And I know smooth sea’s have never benefited me.

thoroughly,

I must write a poem
was what was told me
I must sit in this chair
till one bites my knee

This might take some time
been three days thus far
I’ve sat here staring
while my brain turns to tar

I truly have tried
There’s nothing in there
And I’m going to scream
If I don’t leave this chair

Nails chipped and chapping lips
hold tight my jaw tonight.
See how marrow maps this wreck
where black veins branch
their varicose courses, their rivered curses.
See how bruise-splintered knee caps cape a million wounds,
all wound tight upon this skein, this skin, this spinning wheel of muscling motion.
And naught can avail my tailbone, trail-worn and tired,
against the saddlesore kiss of this,
another day gone by.

I keep having dreams about beached whales
about the sweating End Of The World
about draping the whale in wet sheets to make its last hours not as sweltering because it sure does feel hotter and hotter out here  

I’m wrapping my own swelling body in cotton still wet from the dryer
Not really the same sentiment but still too warm and too damp  

I ask myself if I know how dangerous it is to keep swelling like this
Letting my skin travel farther and farther from my bones
I ask myself if they even remember what it felt like to like to live in that tent I starved to make
All tight and stretched and looked at  

I quickly shake off that spiral and go
and soak another beach towel
getting sweat in my eyes while I whisper encouragemnt to the whale

it’s saddening
when other’s
dreams
play out
before your eyes
while you sit——
idle, stagnant
somehow managing
to breathe

when i sit
to write
or to read
i think about
the iraqi graffiti
reading:

“we’ve got our
deepest hopes
tattooed on our
eyelids; so
when we sleep
we speak
fireworks”