Posts for June 18, 2021 (page 4)

The Sisters stood sentinel
Watching over the woods
Three trunks, one root system
A triumphant trio  

Harmonious
Happy
Healthy  

Laughter like butterflies
Fluttered through the summer air  

Then, he came
Flannel-clad and flushed
Singing a love song
Under his sweet breath  

From his pocket
He pulled a knife
And carved a heart
In the middle sister  

It sent a susurrus
Through her leaves
And left her sap-pulse pounding
“He picked me.”  

Insults like blackbirds
Flapped and flew  

“Wood witch”
“Birch bitch”  

“Jealous hags.”

Their bitterness
beckoned The boring beetle

Silver bark blackened 
Branches bowed
Leaves languished  

One by one by one
They succumbed
Each, in turn, fainting  

Dead on the forest floor
And the Sisters were no more.

focus and refocus,
add a filter, light effects,
increase warmth, decrease
contrast, crop it, flip it sideways,
put a caption underneath. add
a custom mat inside a gilded frame,
let it prominently hang from the master
bedroom wall. all that, and still,
the problem is the same. You
gaze at it and feel no change.
perhaps we saw it clearly
all along, but instead
I shake the lens,
as if it were
wrong.

saying it will eventually get better is neither true or false
it is a guessing game to someone’s current affair 
affair with the world around them and emotions in which they posses
i have never understand the saying
when people tell me it will get better it angers me

i see the look of hope in their eyes and optimism
though to someone who has dealt with major depression for years
it is not simple
it is hard
it is a chemical imbalance
it is something i would never choose to posses

when people ask me what is wrong
a million knives cut my lungs
telling me not to cuss them out
if only it was so simple for me to have an explanation
one that could convince the healthy mind that depression is not sadness it is not a choice and it is not something that just goes away

people always give me advice like i have not heard it before
i understand it comes from a place of kindness
but sometimes it’s hard not to tell others to shut the hell up after they tell me to try journaling

being diagnosed with major depression at fifteen was not something that surprised me
it did not confuse me to hear those words
it confused others
because when someone is depressed and high functioning they learn to mask their situation
there is no way to describe to others the truth of inner chaos when the outside is harmonious rythym in the stream of ones daily life

i’ve been on antidepressants for a while now
it is what it is
i am happy some days and sad some
but neither of that constitutes depression
depression is tied to my back making every move just a bit harder than someone who does not struggle with mental health
but id rather not show it
because it does not define who i am

depression≠me 

June 18, 2021 A Rough Start  

so much to write
with a computer
who double types  
yes I said who
sheheit has a brain
or a poltergeist inside
mysteriously changed settings
indicate a mean streak  

my triggered finger
not the one I use
to pull a trigger
extends in cramped pain  
hoping not to push  
another key to delete  
letters it did not type  

I need to write poetry
think comedy compose submit
edit revise there is so much
to do where I must sit and type
or write or the other way around
write type comedy think poetry  

I can do both at the same time
many say this is fine
but not today where nothing I do is easy 

the horses load into the gate
I wait for inspiration to get the win
but a rough start in my brain
can’t make my body catch
up to the rest of the field.  

The comedy finishes last
the poet jumps the gun
can’t muster a poetic run
the metaphors turn into exhaled
air holding nary a meaning
the nonsense has begun.

There you are again, face up
staring at me from the table,
sword bared, gleaming,
ocean themed artwork, a shark
curves its body around your edges
while you lay in the past influence position
of the Celtic Cross layout,
halfway through someone else’s reading
I happened to catch,
feeling a little uneasy about listening in
(is that rude?)
but there was a small crowd
so I let my curiosity feed.

This may be a stupid question, but
do you believe in synchronicity?
Because I’m thinking of a girl
in a phases of the moon shirt,
a former classmate whose photograph
crossed my eyes not long ago
carrying a memory–possibly fabricated–
of kindness in a time of night
to pierce my heart like a sword
’cause I need something like that again.
She seems like she’d be into this sort of thing, but
I don’t know…

Anyway, I’m getting distracted
because I’m also wondering,
can you multitask?
Like, clearly you have something to say
to the one receiving the reading
but did you know I was going to be there
with my mind wrapped by the idea
of exploring your world
so you chose to reveal yourself
to me as well, to draw me
closer in to you?

I don’t know if I’m ready
to dive into my own reading
and I’m kind of glad the reader decided
not to offer.

Still, I wonder if you
would have more to say to me.
I found you at the workplace,
but my questions extend so much further.
Do you see into the night surrounding?
What would you say in the light of a full moon?
Would you encourage some risk-taking,
in more ways than one?
It’d be difficult for me to give myself
to what remains umproven to me
because I can’t take many more falls.
Still, I stand at this crossroads
looking both ways, wondering
what really do I have left to lose?

escape
unending
velvet
shimmer

life
enfolded
bright

#EkphrasticFriday

Wet black hair slicked smooth,
he’s chunky stuffed into his suit
like a sausage and a little damp,
sweat beading his upper lip.
His wide smile comes quick
and only sometimes the rage erupts
as when he speaks with the voice
of the Rio Grande, which declares
it was not designed for drowning
those trying to escape.

the real reason
i stopped asking for help

was not because
i got better

it was because
my mother grew tired 

of all the questions
and the sympathetic remarks

having to deal with me 
was too much

carrying my baggage 
almost broke her

so i stopped 
with the therapist and the hospital visits 

if only to make 
her stay sane

a little longer

Inky hair, dark eyes,
and olive skin, same as mine.
Three years older but

perhaps not wiser
(you’re messier, more careless,
have sweeter smiles and

jauntier antics).
I’ll give you good laughter, some
wonkily wrapped gifts,

smear icing on your
cheek, watch you silence candles.
And since I should tell

you this more, I’ll say:
I always love, not like, you,
dear brother of mine.

Congrats on a third
decade’s beginning, thank you
for these lovely years,

and let’s celebrate
a happy, happy birthday.