Realize

You never know what you have
until you lose it.
And I am not sure I ever understood that
before.

Depression can ride on your heels
until you believe,
believe with all that you have,
that you have nothing.

But, are you forgetting your speech?
Try not having it.

You have your focus.
The ability to hone in on
your work.

Walking feels
silly to note,
but be grateful
for every step you
can take without thinking.
            I did not lose my ability
            forever, but every day
            is still a battle against the possibility.
Realize you walk with ease,
no panicked moments if you forget something in the next room.
Realize you walk with every part of your foot.

It's funny. These words don't come
from a place of deep thought;
they are just ankles.
But, I didn't know we had a midfoot.
I didn't know they would become so vital.
So painful.

Lose your freedom,
you'll hate yourself
for not seeing it sooner.

Notice the things you have.
Not for guilt.
To note.
To respect. Feel grateful.

I will be here,
dreaming of standing on
that mountain ridge,
one day.

Friendships Suck

It can suck.
Friendships, I mean.
Not in the way you think.

All consuming.
That is what it is
because
you end up loving
this human-
this beautiful, flawed,
exceptional, part of the universe-
and it is all that you are.

You want to hear them laugh
always.
You crave their smile and
their face, no matter its state.

It sucks because
no matter what you do,
they can still get hurt.
And when they cry,
you sob,
when they whimper,
you scream.

No love can quite
match friendships.

And
unbeknownst to popular opinion,
they are not built
on time, but experiences.
She saw you at your worst
and came back.
She gathered up old photos,
to remind you that good times exist.

And it reminds me, that with her,
they always will.

So, yeah, friendships
suck.
They give you an addiction,
problems you can’t fix,
and so much love you might just
have trouble holding on to all
your other pieces together.

And it is all worth it.
The fear, pain, vulnerability…
You’d loop it infinitely

if you could.

The Idea

Nothing to note.

A day where the wind

still blows.

They were calling-

all of my pieces,

Heartbreak was

in Love.

You’re not

I sang, and before

they could shame my

quick reply, I said

You’re in love with the

idea of the Perfect Match.

Uninterrupted strolls

along shores of

it does not matter, as long as

it never rains.

I know you miss the warmth,

not of the hugs,

but of the hope that

One day you will be okay.

____________________
(My poem was inspired by “1018-1019” by Fujiwara no Tameie)

.

I get that you don’t get it.

There being such a constant need for

a pen and paper,

to always be nearby

and one that can only be satisfied by such.

An itch for written words.

You know, I actually feel tightness in my chest,

my ears get hot,

and nothing else is worth my focus.

A few words a day maybe.

But, I’m an optimist,

a seeker of the novel

I know is within me.

So, I carry around this damn laptop.

And my notebook.

And a smaller one.

And my phone for voice notes.

And I dream.

You used to tell me to,

every night.

Remember?

You made it seem like

dreams are all that matter

in a world where

things didn’t make sense yet.

You didn’t tell me that they never really would.

I get that you don’t get me.

-          Looking At You, Dad

Dry Saddness

Sometimes there are
No tears.
My face is dry.
I am all dried up. There is just
nothing inside.
I stare.
At what?
There is nothing
left inside
to even hold onto the reality of what's outside.

Truth

Everyone has Truths.

Facts about life

that they know 

to be true. 

Maybe your Truth is a white dude in the sky, nothingness, an inner Light, multiple gods, or connection. There aren't many rules to having a Truth. Any actually. Just that you believe it.  I guess. 

You can't deny

someone 

their truth. 

There's This Lie

   There's this lie.
It can creep into the back of your mind if you're not careful.

   There's this lie.

That can seep into your thoughts. 

   There's this lie. 

That could end your life.

There's this lie that suicide is beautiful,

poetic, even. 

A courageous end to a hard life.

Lies.

Suicide is ugly. 

It's the ugliest thing on Earth. 

Depression isn't lying in bed waiting for your white knight. 

It's sore throats and broken stomachs from throwing up too much. 

It's blood running cold down arms that have been torn apart in hatred. 

It's sobs at a funeral for someone who was taken too soon. 

Suicide is not beautiful. 

There's this lie 

that it is. 

Crush it.

Wasting Time

Is it a waste of time to sit,
staring out the window- wishing-

taking in what you can't quite have?

Is it a waste of time to clean,

to put effort into something that

will only be undone?

Is a waste of time to write,
something that will
only be forgotten?

Is it a waste of time to love,

knowing it will only end  

in a blink of an eye. So fast you can't
quite catch it, so slow you can only replay it
over and over.

Is it a waste of time to live,
for you can only die?

No.

Sometimes

Sometimes

when everything feels big

and towering around you.

When the light is dim and

darkness

is all I seem to be able to know. The sadness

closes

my eyes for me. Shielding

from the horror that depression

brings

in

from the scraps of death

of it's heart.

Forever Books

Here's the thing about long books:
when you're reading them you go
yes, yes, keep going
Keep going until the spindles of forever
wrap itself around your heart to make it beat just a little bit faster
until the words swirl in your mind and all you know
all you can feel are the words
of this single book.
but here's the other thing, you want to know
what happens?
who happens?
how does their story end?
but again, there is the forever tapping on your window
and you welcome them