Even though the sky is dreary
And of my own thoughts I'm leery
I must not give in to them
Somehow I must think more clearly.

I turned on the living room light
And thoughts of sleeping all set flight
Why I sat in the dark alone
I don't know, but this feels right.

I've taken the dose of vitamin D
I've listened to my stomach's plea
To give it healthy, complex carbs
So I hope today is better for me.

.

Some of them were strangers


Some of them were without any rule


None of them would see another tomorrow


And if the innocent are guilty


Of the crimes they are harboring within


Then what are the chances in the hands of the convicted


There in the tiredness of what resignation brings

In the rejection of your everything

When the dawn draws close with no exceptions

Some of them were crying

Some of them stood brave

In the end it just didn't matter . . .


All of their dreams came tumbling down

All of their love would soon expire

And the void in the midst of the distance left not a sound

As the earth swallowed all that mattered

It covered all of their future faults

Leaving the fresh dirt of new direction


Some of them were young

Some of them were old

Some of them were men and the others were women

Some of them were just in the wrong location

Maybe they had the wrong face of denial

Just maybe in memory they will not be forgotten

For being guilty of being innocent

If you try to breathe, normal,
in through the nose
out through the mouth,
you know your breath will stutter,
come out in a gulping, unsteady way

Because your heart is too fast
(as always)
Your mind is too unclear,
stuck in a haze of fog.

So you will breathe
through only your nose,
keep the panic curled and tight
until you are all alone,
and it can lash out fast and furious,
and harm no one but you.

I woke up on the couch again.
I've been sleeping there each night that he's out of town without cell signal.
Not that he even lives with me.
But sleeping in my own bed still feels lonely if there aren't texts from him to look forward to.
No matter how many new friends I make, I can't fill the empty spot.
And it's okay.
"Distance" makes the heart grow "fonder", but all I can hope is that it'll make the heart grow.
So much on our minds.
Choices to make and places to go and work to be done.
And the desire to just drop it all for a week and be together is always there.
Patience, I say, there will be a week for that.
So I will wait.
As much as it hurts for the present, it's worth it.

I got up off the couch once I'd written him a good morning text.
I was playing some of my old music and getting lost in the atmospheric melodies, and just pouring water into the coffee machine instead of waiting for the Brita pitcher to filter it, and then use that, was my method for breaking through the anxiety barrier today.
From there, coffee was followed by a desire for food (because coffee alone is just asking for a stomachache) so I thought of my pancake mix.
Here goes. I'm not measuring this out, my measuring cups are all in the ***** dishes pile. I've washed a bunch of glasses and this one will fit enough pancake batter for two or three small flapjacks.
Here I go.

THEY COME TOO CLOSE,WHEN EVER THEY NEED A FAVOR,
WHEN THE JOB IS DONE,INSTENTLY,
THEY CHANGE FLAVOR !!

This is not a poem, but...

At least 10 people were killed as a result of a school shooting in Texas this morning. It's a tragedy, but one of the sort that seems to diminish in scope with each passing month. Ten people lost their lives in a fury of unimaginable pain and anguish, yet we seem to grow more immune by the hour. it's a mournful event over which we should weep, but it seems our hearts grow frosty and we hardly bat an eye. Because here's the thing--it's hardly news anymore. We are hardly surprised, hardly hurt, hardly affected. And this is perhaps the greatest tragedy of all.

4 victims were killed in a Tennessee Waffle House--surely now that I mention it, you recall the headlines. That was less than a month ago. The Parkland, Florida school shooting that left 17 dead was less than 2.5 months ago. The Sutherland Springs church shooting that left 26 dead was 6.5 months ago. The Las Vegas Massacre, which saw 58 people killed and over 800 injured, happened not even 8 months ago. The Pulse nightclub shooting that left 49 dead is not even 2 years old. The Charleston Church shooting, killing 9 and perpetrated by white supremacist Dylann Roof, isn't even 3 years old. The Aurora, Colorado movie theater shooting that killed 12 was almost 6 years ago, and the Sandy Hook shooting, leaving 27 dead--20 of whom were elementary schoolers--happened only months later.  The Virginia Tech shooting that killed 32 was 11 years ago. Columbine, where 15 people died, will be 19 years old this coming Sunday.

We remember all the headlines, but little of the aftermath. There's too much pain and trauma involved to fully recall the mournful scenes that follow each shooting. And so we are forced to attempt to move on with our lives, thereby washing our hands of the stain of these ****** massacres. We call for reforms, then forget when our politicians move on.

Indeed, our greatest and most fearsome coping mechanism, put simply, has been to forget. We forget the anguish, the empty, hollow, now-caustic thoughts and prayers, the toothless promises of reform. We forget, and move on. On to the street, on to the next, safe in the knowledge that we tried.

...

It seems to me that the greatest and most lamentable tragedy of this entire conversation may not be the crime itself, but rather our reaction to it.

And so it was, then, that when I read this morning's headline about the Texas shooting, I was hardly surprised. My greatest shock was that I was not shocked. And that I was not shocked, and that you weren't either, I'll wager, might be a crime greater than all the others.

After all, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, no?

Until next time, then...

I have been, I am and I will be documenting the complexities that run rampant within.

It’d be easier if my mind and heart spoke
the same language. Most times they’re in conflict.

So I’ll cope in the best way I know how.
I’ll keep posting...

Because no amount of sentences...
Can succinctly form the verses that fully capture what I see and think.

No amount of metaphors...
Can successfully mask and satisfy what I truly feel.

No amount of poems...
Can accurately draft the blueprint of what and why I am.

Do forgive me for I have fallen far and deep. And for the umpteenth time, I am looking for that window or door so that I could see and taste purpose again.

So please bear with me...
There will be more to come as I indulge in my quest for equilibrium.



Yours in ink,

ryn

.

I saw the clouds
In the moonlit night,
Dark and flimsy
Moonlight shining through.

They looked so sad,
Engulfed in the dark sky.
Taking form
Of the whispering monsters:
My slumbering nightmares,
Quitely growling in my mind.

They were mourning
The death of daylight,
As the moon roared bright;
Soaring through the sky
To meet my eyes.

My vision raged through the sky,
All the way home, seeking rest;
Yet the clouds, forgotten,
Stayed unmoving
Still, high up in the sky;
Like their dead kin
In hushed smoking rooms,
Stuck and stranded;
Held prisoner
To the silent endless black.
In sad, starving human minds...