Its been a year,

and what a year its been.

thinking back on it all, its a dream really.

The skies were clear, the clouds rolled bye slow,

aside from some squalls barely visible from shore,

the sea was calm.

Everything changed for me in the spring.

It was 4 months of the most painful growth I've ever known,

during the brief moments of reprieve Id lay in beds of clovers, the flowers and grass embracing me like old friends.

Then the summer came,
it was hot, and rainy, and the sweat burned my eyes,

The cicadas screamed into the evening as they felt the sun for the fist time all year.

I fell hard and let myself rest. The blood from my hands ran a deep red, a reminder I was only human and the proof I was still so alive.

Jolting awake in the quiet fall mornings felt like the end of a loud heavy metal song.
The sudden and sharp juxtoposition was an unexpected but welcomed moment of quiet.

those sunrises were, crisp and the clouds were nowhere to be found. as the temperatures dropped The world turned an odd cheap sepia hue, like one of those tacky old timey photos you get on a family vacation to tennessee.

Winter seemed to clear away the clutter of it all.

What was so seemingly right and seemingly wrong, crystallized over night, politely frozen in time for me to take careful note of.

The voices of people  I love swarmed my ears as the holidays rolled bye.

what a year its been,

my hair has grown so long,

my smile lines have grown deep,

I can hear the wind picking up outside,

my eyes are open wide,

facing forward, ready for the show,

as the storm rages on.

I’m just a symptom of your untreated ADHD,

You text me when you need a pick-me-up,

When you’ve hit another low,

When you decide not to take your adderal,

Those are the times I come to mind,

And the in the same breathe,

I’ve completely cleared from it,

The ups and downs give me vertigo,

Tummy twisters like I’d get as a kid,

And that same feeling of being adrift.

My sandpaper tongue,
How it chews like dried up fat,

The crystalline grass,
How it crunches underfoot,

The paper thin skin,
How it tears like it was pleated,

The rambunctious quiet soul,
And the storm cloud in its wake.