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 Apr 2014 Evelynn Hohenbrink
J
Sad.
 Apr 2014 Evelynn Hohenbrink
J
I cry because happiness is a harder concept to grasp than sorrow.
Because sorrow greets me as an old friend.
Fondly reminding me of my mistakes,
my flaws, and my current inner desolation.
Reminding me of how I failed
and how I cannot fix my mistakes.
While we reminisce over a bottle of melancholia
and a plate of regret.

Leaving me with yet another notch on my belt
of nights I cried myself to sleep
People pass you by because
pretending everything is alright is more
convenient than noticing they are broken.
They are the people that hide their silent tears
at the back of a closet and bury broken smiles
into the corner of a sock drawer.
But soon …There won’t be enough room
for the hidden emotions that you think are irrelevant
and can be dealt with another day,
soon every emotion you hid will come out of the closet
and show its face in the most unpleasant way.
Tears. You can’t escape them.
I cry because she cries,
my best friend, drowning in her own sorrow,
I cannot help but drown with her.
For what is a friend if that friend will not jump
into the murky depth we call depression, sinking ever deeper?
At least we sink together.
Treading conformity, stress, humiliation,
we tread together.
As we sink deeper, we try to grasp
at the bubbles of happiness escaping our lips,
somehow bring them back.
We can’t, because once they’re lost no amount
of pretending can give us the air we sorely need
or the fake smiles to get by without question, day by day.
But at least, we drown together.
So many times I have looked out to a warm sunset
and felt chilled to the bone.
Because if I let go of the railing, life would go on.
Because if I did not exist right now nothing
in the world would change.
It would just erase any memory of all the ***** ups
I collected like stamps and baseball cards.
Because no amount of blankets and soothing words
can warm the icy thought in the back of my head
whispering in the persuasive voice of a friend, “What’s the point?”
I cry for the people who don’t think they matter,
who think that turning to something
to relieve their pain will fix it.
I cry for the people who think
killing themselves will make them feel alive.
For the people who get lost trying to find themselves.
For the people who put on a mask
desperately waiting for someone to see through it.
And for the people who cut themselves
trying to become whole.
Breaking themselves down bit by bit,
holding all the pieces,
and waiting for someone to put them back together.

I cry because this entire explanation is just eloquently realizing that

I am sad.
I still wait for it, you know.
That tiny sign that you still care.
You could merely say hello to me.
And I'd be happy beyond compare.
Please don't forget me.
I'm losing my faith in you.
I'm scared that I never meant anything.
Please don't let that be true.
I loved you, with everything I had.
You owned my heart for three whole years.
I gave you everything I could.
And all you gave me was an endless supply of tears.
Was I really that easy to forget?
You called me your angel.
I thought you'd never tell me a lie.
But now I see you weren't being truthful.
And this really is goodbye..
i write letters to you
sometimes
with the stars
do you see?

i write letters to you
in the winter
with the trees
bared of their leaves
brown-black
against the white sky
do you see?

i write letters to you
ink against my skin
a tattoo against the curve of my neck
do you see?

i write letters to you
in every poem
there is at least a line
that is meant
for only you
do you see?

i write letters to you
and keep them in crumbling
books
on dusty shelves
mixing
with someone else's words
do you see?

i write letters to you
in books bound
by synthetic leather
shoved in the second drawer
beneath my mirror
do you see?

i write letters to you
and i leave them
in their envelopes
to be mailed into the fire
do you see?

i want you to read all of these parts
of me
with ash
graying
your calloused fingers
Every silent morning
Gazing with warm eyes
From the cold, hard mirror
Is my image.

But when night falls,
That image disappears.
Gone with the wind
Away.

Do I cease to exist?
Why can't I see that person anymore?
Am I just
An illusion?
Hey Yehoshua (Joshua),

How did a nice Jewish boy like you become the savior of the world?  They transliterated your name into Greek and called you Jesus, but to me you will remain a Jewish boy from a podunk little town.  You were probably lonely and out of place like me, a shy immigrant boy from Korea growing up in Western NC. You had giant expectations to fill.  Your dad was larger than life and sometimes a little demanding,  I relate.  
  More than my savior, I want you as a friend and a fellow traveler.  Sometimes I focus on your divinity so much that I forget you are flesh and blood like me, a God with skin.  You've felt the long sleepless nights, the thirsting and hunger for a God sized whole to be filled.  You've experienced the pain of betrayal and most important you know how hard it is to love and be loved by imperfect people trying to love with all their brokenness.  
  Josh, I'm not sure if this is a poem or letter, but I wanted to say hello.  Thanks for welcoming me into your life and calling me a friend and a brother.  I'll try to pass on the message by living it out, and share how my life changed when I encountered a God with Skin in the depths of my despair.  I keep walkin' the walk a day at a time.

Peace,

EunSung aka Silas
crushed by the weight
of despair

lifted by Divine love
10w
I am undone by your
eyes
burning through my
lies.
10w
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