Posts for June 5, 2025 (page 7)

1. you are not insane

2. you do, in fact, take things too personally.

2.5  it’s not normal to prefer being stabbed to being ignored 

3. maybe you are actually insane (therapist disagrees… says you are only human)

4. maybe you need more therapy 

    therapy for your therapy 

        (the therapy industry will be getting a lot of money from you) 

5. you cried. so what? 

    you think they haven’t seen tears rolling

    you think they don’t live for that shit

    to see you feeling your feelings

    own it     take it     run with it 

6. maybe it’s okay that you are only human 

    maybe it’s acceptable that you take things too personally 

7. maybe you aren’t, in fact, too much

    maybe you are just enough 

    and maybe it’s beautiful that you have found authenticity 

8. homework? 

    yikes

9. you mean, they want me to think, even more about my issues outside of the safety of these virtual walls?? 

    maybe they are the ones insane  

10. wow! you deserve a nap 

Sometimes, I wish it could be as
simple as following a beacon,
to have someone with a lantern
guiding my way through this life

to be one of those folks who finished
college and followed their career track
to retirement, no twists and turns to
navigate, no changing course mid-stride.

What must that feel like,
walking a mown path through
this fragile system of lies,
security?

With benefits and steady income,
a consistent schedule and routine,
or is it stagnation?
Always the same tired thing.

Other times, I’m grateful for these
adventures I keep having,

    for new side quests taking me into
        territories never explored as I draw

a map with crooked
                                    lines and           s    p    i    r    a    l    s,
    holding my own lantern to light the way, 
            relying on
                                hope         for each next step,

living an uncharted life.

i’m sorry 
i killed 

that bug 
with your book 

of love
poems 

17 years ago we were living in a much smaller town
with a much bigger yard
a field the school used to own,
then blurred into our property lines

the bushes outlined in honeysuckle
my brother gnawed dry, and i found too bitter

17 years ago i moved into my own room
in the too-many-rooms house
i lasted until the first storm,
ran back into my brother’s room,
and re-bunked our beds back together

he kept the loud bugs at bay
and made sure scary Santa stayed away

17 years ago i drove a barbie car
up and down the hilled suburb,
stuck it into bushes and the ledge at the end of the driveway
my brother towed me out,
rope tied from the back of his tiny jeep

17 years ago my brother helped me steal a kitten
from the trailer across the street
the neighbors put her outside with no food
i cried leaving her alone, so inside she came
tucked under my cat-adverse brother’s arm

17 years later i live in a bigger town
with a much smaller yard
lined with trees full of the bugs that scream
my head aches from the noise,
and my brother always seems to be far away

I think the universe is the largest,
slowest, most boring pinball machine imaginable,
although maybe the problem is me,
me failing to imagine the metalloid
asteroids pinging between Mars and Jupiter, the whirling
electrons inside the asteroids
decaying radioactively, crumbling
into the elements of their elements, jumbling
deeper into disorder before tumbling
between the flippers of consciousness
(each of my brain hemispheres is a flipper),
falling, falling until they land right here, on this page–

—–

I think the universe is a carnival funhouse on fire,
everything is more exciting with twisted mirrors and slanted floors,
everything is even more exciting when everything is aflame,
scientists say that both fear and excitement
are fueled by a surge of adrenaline,
and I say that adrenaline is the opposite of death,
because if death is a flatline on the X-Y axis,
then life must be the clattering roller coaster
next to the burning funhouse,
careening through the center of the burning funhouse,
the carnie at the controls had not slept in thirteen days,
the carnie at the controls was me,
the janky clanky roller coaster crashing
through the roaring funhouse was my life
and I was riding in the front coaster car,
I was riding in the front car and controlling the controls at the same time,
this sounds impossible but it is true,
I have no idea how I survived
but I am glad that I did
and I don’t live that way anymore,
but I regret nothing and enjoy reminiscing
because it reminds me that I was not
and still aren’t the opposite of alive–

—–

I think the universe is basically a meth lab,
lots of containers full of volatile substances
interconnected by tubes, and the fluids
are stable when not mixed together,
but they’re also not very interesting
in isolation and can even lose their potency over time,
just like the therapists say, but on the other hand
the intermingling of the substances must be done
with utmost care and mindfulness,
with impeccable timing and volume and proportion,
because we all know what happens
when the meth lab goes wrong,
when the delicate pattern is skewed,
we’ve all been through it one way or another,
one might call it the hot blossom
of a perilous new world, although I prefer
to just call it the Big Bang–

—–

I think the universe is an infinite set of nesting dolls,
layers cascading endlessly in both directions,
there are times when I need to wind things up,
there are times when I need to wind things down,
the nesting dolls will gladly accommodate either desire,
but because they are infinite
they will never provide closure,
no rousing climax nor soothing resolution—
I am trying to get to the bottom of this,
I am trying to get on top of the matter,
but I suppose I’ll have to just add more to the middle,
and hope that this is good enough for now–

A cacophony
of hasty typing
and printer beeps 
becomes my white noise
for the afternoon 

Nestled between
the periodicals
and the desktops
I sit and pretend
that I am studying

Opting instead to
become a voyeur
in the lives of those
who surround me

The sound of soft wind in ocean breeze
the skittering chirps of parrots in the palm
fluffy white clouds like slow floating boats
fluttering butterflies’ wild flower feed.
Myriad ways to refuel your soul.

If things in my house
could speak
I’ve noticed
that the same things
that used to
bring joy,
evoke fun
spark astonishment for art and beauty
make me marvel at human invention
and trigger humming

…these things now glare back at me
with demands:
dust me, polish me!
handle me with care
put me on display
invite people over to see me
show me off…look at me….
They ask…why have you ignored me?

I am thinking my house has become
a very noisy place.

Perhaps the most noisy ones
are really asking to go somewhere else…
I am liking that idea.
To ignore or not to ignore—that is the question.

If I were a NASA telescope,
the new capacities to see
light beyond the event horizon
makes me focus on new sources
of joys, fun, and astonishment
not dependent upon the things
behind my house key

It will still be hard to decide
which things stay
and which will go.

At the bottom of my yard are three pines
of varying statures, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
I stare at them as breezes caress my cheeks,
birds sing of hope as I remember lost loved ones.

First my father, brother, mother, brother, husband
and sister, each new grief compounded by the previous.
The three pines instill hope that they are at peace
and united again looking down with love.