My rib cage struggles to contain
The tornado of butterflies
That thud off the glass of my chest
Like a bird on a freshly cleaned window
They then take a sharp turn, in synchronicity
Like a flock of starlings over an open field
And dive into my stomach,
Pulling up just before they hit the bottom
I reach into my head in hopes of salvation
But what once rested between my ears is gone,
Leaving only a post-it note that reads
“be back soon, went to market”
Each breath that leaves my body is on fire
And my legs get heavier with each step
My vision is blurred, my voice is small
And I am not a man, and I am not a human, but I am a feeling
Panic
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
.3%
My mind is consumed with worry
Over a subject that is 99.7% unlikely
Yet that .3% barks at the gate of my mind
Like a German Shepard at a mailman.
I realize it is a small percent,
But it is huge in my mind and in
This moment of uncertainty.
.3% means a second job, and sleepless nights.
.3% means giving up on the youth
That we have recently re-discovered.
.3% means struggles that we are not prepared to face.
.3% means we become boring for a while,
And hope that we remember how to have fun years from now.
.3% means forced interactions with family members,
And eventual awkward conversations
Filled with unwanted opinions on how to treat the .3%.
And now I wait
On a visitor that never calls ahead
But always shows around the same time.
A visitor that means sacrifice and stress, but at the end of the day
Puts my mind at ease with their reassurances of the future.
So please forgive me
For constantly asking if they’ve arrived
Carrying their red suitcase
And marching through the airport
Preaching the good world of 99.7%.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
“Just relax”
She says, as I picture her kissing the
Neck of a female coworker
With whom she had recently started
A flirtatious friendship
“We’ll play it by ear”
Scratches on the cluttered chalkboard
That is my anxious mind
Riddled with equations of what ifs
And ramblings of aftermaths
“It’ll work out”
Isn’t as reassuring as it might seem
When I want nothing more than to witness a fantasy
That is scribbled in a weekly calendar
And only committed to by word of mouth
“what else could I say”
Is a fair point,
but one that falls silent on my lust
which seems to be manifesting as a smoky devil
with obsessive compulsive disorder
“And if it doesn’t happen, oh well”
Are easy words for her to say
Considering the amount of fantasies she has fulfilled
Since we have started this journey
Of debauchery, and self-esteem adjustments
“At least we have each other”
The most comforting thing she has said on the topic,
Yet I wonder
Am I enough for you…
And you for me?
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC