He fed me forever in teaspoons
And sometimes I would tremble so much
That little bits of forever would spill over and hit the ground
And I felt greedy because I wanted all of that teaspoon of eternity
In case it would run out.

He was my traveling home
We were a trailer full of broken hearts
Guitar strings that were old and snapped when touched
And when the winding roads wound me up so tight that I could explode with just one word
He gave me two
And I found a home in them that was warmer and safer than freezing house I was raised in.

It seems that it's a lot
You know it
Well, It.
The Big One.
The wave that suddenly hits you
That strives to drown you in a sea of anxiety
You gasp for breath so much that it (Not the Big One., a smaller, less important One) seems like you're only ever gasping
Until the sea becomes calm
You have to work to make it that way.
You learn to do this the days you talk to the kind woman who understands you a little bit more than you do yourself.

You keep in mind:
The water can quickly rise, fueled by your own tears,
paranoia in school hall way,
and the misspelled, misguided cruelty plastered on the web

It seems we (myself not included, merely the seemingly all-knowing comfy chair sitters who seem to know me a little better than I know myself) like to break things down
-find what the triggers It (The Big One.)
Know what makes the wave approach.
-determine what you can do to stop It.
Get that life preserver ready.
-Stop It.
Return to calm waters.

Sometimes, it's easier to think that no one understands me
Because then they (he, she, in between one and another, or D. none of the above)
May think It is not so bad really
And that I am the only one who cannot comprehend It.
I.T.
It . . . is a lot.
The only two words I can use to describe such a feeling

Right now I'm focusing less on surviving than creating the illusion that I know what I'm doing
When secretly I'm searching to find an answer I'm starting to doubt is there.
I want to write an essay, to describe my fears in pretty words that will make everything seem all right.
I want to circle C. and know that my answer is correct.
But IT is a lot to summarize in an essay
Or a multiple choice test
Or even a poem
But this is me, right now
Trying to find the trigger of It.
I will breath evenly, not gasp even when the water crashes into me, sending me reeling back
And if I do find myself gasping
it will be accompanying tears of happiness because even as I am repeatedly sent backwards
plunged into the darkness
I will be whispering, over and over again . . .
I can survive. I will survive.
A lot.