depths of mynd

I can’t quite pinpoint
this feeling. I sob
deep but I still don’t feel
beyond this empty.
What is the meaning?
When I try not to think
because if I do, tears fall down
my face. Where is my place?
There is not much I look
forward to. Wake up, hit snooze,
get up. Work. Eat and sleep.
And repeat. I pay one bill
only for the next to come.
And I open the internet
to find more hypocritical hate.
It’s a disgrace. I wish I could hole
myself up and not communicate.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not 
S-U-I-C-I-D-A-L.
I just don’t understand
why we live this life?
Spend every day promoting love
and belonging, but the
minute my belief is different,
you ostracize. Cut-throat. Ban
the fucking box.
I think of you often.
You — my family and friends –
I try to be there. The good,
the bad, the ugly.
And I want to be there,
I just can’t in the depth of mine,
depths of my mind.
So if I miss a few and
I go silent…
It is not even that. Like I said,
I cannot pinpoint
the deepness,
deeper than the ocean blue
of my gut.
Waves crashing my mind,
I wish I could rewind…
no wait. Fast forward.
Two times.
Just don’t let this cassette pause.
I don’t want to repeat 2019.
Fuck this year. I miss him.
I miss the feeling of his smile
lighting up a room. I miss his
goofy laugh.
I miss the time when my mom wasn’t
forced to chase
poison down her veins.
I miss real summers, where work
wasn’t lurking on the edge of
a five day break.
I miss when friendships
pick up where they left off
and distance didn’t mean broken
promises. I miss waking up
on weekend mornings and feeling
energized to tackle the day.
Even if it meant cleaning the house.
Creating brings me joy. Even these
somber words, at least they pulse
from my fingertips.
I want my fingers to drip in
wet paint. At least they got messy
in the dirt. A garden harvest
watching my hard work grow
into something so colorful
and tasty. And the small joy
of feeding our backyard bunny.
I have to remember to pause
on these moments…
I have to remember to breathe
and believe
that we all FEEL
without the pressure of
fixing you.
Hold me, as I crumble beneath your grip
but at least I can feel you, feel me.
That this is real and not some
figment of my mind.
Or a simulation.
Can we just hold onto the moment
and not worry,
not worry about the next bill
or next sad song. Not worry about
and just breathe…
I could go on all night,
but I’ll save you the chaos
inside my brain.
The tear stains on my cheeks.
And I will try to embrace this
upcoming rotation around the sun.
And try to believe
I was given a purpose
that I just cannot see.


Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Unsplash

 

Tagged with:
Posted in Poetry, Struggles

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