My mom told me the other day
"I haven't seen the old you since like 6th grade. Do you think she'll ever come back?"

11 years.
It's been 11 years since I've been considered "normal"
11 years since I wanted a future and actually planned on having one
11 years since I didn't feel trapped between being scared to die and not caring if I do
It's been 11 years since I haven't felt the grip of crippling anxiety and the weight of major depression.

They say it takes 21 days to break a habit. What they don't mention is if it's still possible to break one even if it's been over a decade.

Now I've always thought of bad habits as more of minor things such as biting your nails, swearing too much, or using "umm" as filler words. Can major things be habits too?

They say it takes 21 days to break a habit. It's been 11 years and I'm still the same.

I fill up your oil with love and affection
I change your low-self esteem tires to brand new confidence
I clean up all the bad memories left between the seat cushions
I repair any bumps and scrapes you've gotten along the way; every broken heart that felt like the most fatal car crash
When you're all shiny and feel brand new again, you go on your way
Leaving me with nothing but an empty garage

Something feels wrong about walking on pavement
When I could be skipping through fields of grass
Something's wrong with economic enslavement
When we could be carelessly letting time pass

Something's wrong with perpetual warfare
When all we desire is love and peace
Something feels empty about likes and shares
And something feels wrong about racist police

Something feels off when politicians speak
With their lies, misinformation, and deceit
Something feels wrong because we've passed our peak
We're on the decline and it tastes so sweet.

Something feels wrong with the passing breeze
As if the air knows what's coming next
Something looks wrong with decaying trees
They too understand that we are hexed.

Something feels wrong in my dark twisted mind
Something feels wrong with this dark twisted Earth
Something feels wrong about being kind
Something feels wrong about having no worth.

Something feels wrong about dragging
along
And it'll all feel wrong until the day I'm gone

Now that the joy is gone
And the thrill has faded away
I'm back to fighting misery
Each and every day

Once I was in a place
Where the happiness was endless
Where every face had a smile
But now it all seems senseless

What's it matter now?
Those days are in the past
Now the pain has returned
And its here to last

The pain of which I speak
I have failed to find it's source
But it has always been within me
This my mind has enforced

So I'll trot along
Through tornados and hurricanes
Through blizzards and wildfires
Even if the pain remains

I am a nomad
I travel place to place
Finding homes in people instead of houses

I am a flower
Always blooming new petals, no matter how harsh the winter frost
And for once I am going to plant my roots
In you

A Snow in Summer.
                                
                                               Like snow that follows Spring,
                                               When flowers start to rise,
                                               It’s wrong for certain things to be,
                                               Like when a child dies.

                                               A Moon that shines on sunlit days,
                                               a cold and damning light,
                                               as wrong as youth that fades and leaves,
                                               forever from our sight.
            
                                               A warming wind in wintertime,
                                               while in a swirling storm,
                                               is not to be the way of things                               
                                               nor death in youthful form.
                                                           ­ 
                                                One left to mourn a missing friend,
                                                one left of what was three,
                                                Again it’s like a summer’s snow.
                                                It’s not supposed to be.
                                                                ­                        JC 2004

I wonder what will **** me first...
The thick smoke from your cigarettes
or
your sweet but devious smile

*Both leave me breathless