Your expectations are a plate I cannot finish
I eat until I am full
Until I am sick
What they say is food
feels to me like poison
I try to leave the table
But my plate is still unfinished
But I am full
My stomach can not handle
The words you try to feed me
They are watching
Plates are empty
But their portions are smaller
Don’t you understand
It’s not possible
Anything is possible
Those words will bring more suffering
And I will eat them until I vomit
Every morsel of food expelled onto the table
The neatly folded napkins in disarray
The disdainful looks
What my body did to heal me
Is what lead them to disgust
I am now alone at the table
empty as I was
Dementia, deja vu
It happened to me,
It could happen to you.
Bed sheets rake flesh,
High grade sand paper,
Blades dull and rust,
As if I held my breaking heart.
Brain signals fire, nothing is true
Walls close in, pain takes hold,
Insanity becomes the typical mold
Why can't I respect the flow?
So they say, just apart of the waves.
I wonder why I can never just chill out.
The way you glide, effortlessly and confidently
across any room, any surface, like it's a dance.
You, the ballerina that brings bliss to an otherwise vacant floor.
Your body in full control.
Inaudible music lingers as you raise your arms.
Your figure pulled taut from your toes up to your fingers.
You continue out the building.
Gliding, sailing, singing.
Your step is in time
and your voice is soothing.
Through the wind, your sun-bathed skin is gleaming.
You give a twirl, skirt swirling like a rose.
One arm out as you finish your rotation.
As you continued dancing,
I thought about my stride.
How could I float the way you do.
I have no music in my ears, my head.
All I can think of is the melody you dance to.
While you hum sweetly, quietly, lyrics I do not know,
I smile discreetly watching the way you glow.
You sway like the ocean.
The way you glide, casually, down the hall.
Chin up, long stride,
like walking back on stage for curtain call.
I reach for your hand and stop you.
The music in your head abruptly pauses.
You turn to look at me
and I admire your watercolor eyes.
Much like your dance,
which sways in me after it’s stopped,
the color of your eyes remind me
of the beauty inside the ocean.
“Will you teach me how to dance like you do?”
You laugh softly,
"I have two left feet."
Wasn't too likely,
You missed me nightly,
But the drug drip makes memories appear.
Road lines, coerce the mind
I was believing in something,
Still smell the same, your wet lips on my cheek reminded me of the good days.
When I was yours and you were mine.
Second chances aren't easy,
Guess it's you I have to define.
And so I am nothing
No I don't mean
I am physically not here or mentally a burden.
But something told me once in the distance that
I. Am. Nothing.
What truly is nothing?
It's a state of being, provided by the unforgivable truth that this realm,
this place of living.
Simply does not exist.
The storm clouds thrust you in,
A whirlwind of juxtaposition screaming it can't be true!
There's gotta be something more to this.
But still, I am nothing.
We keep pulling our whits together to make believe that love will save us.
Whether it's the tender hand placed on your back or the loving grip of the soft skin that turns to wrinkles that show the true ending of the story.
We are all made to turn to ash.
I am still nothing.