Never say that you cannot
Always be willing to give it a try
Believe that you can
Continue on before the water runs dry
Take things one step at a time
You can rewrite history
The harder the battle may seem
The sweeter is the victory

“My heart is so small
it's almost invisible.
How can You place
such big sorrows in it?"
"Look," he answered,
"your eyes are even smaller,
yet they behold the world."

~ Rumi

I like my old house, with the big
backyard, on that lonely little
road: home, a touchstone.

Wrapped in my duvet of silence,
tracing the bumps of the popcorn
ceiling with glazed eyes while she
brushes hair behind my ear.

"You may be depressed, but you're
not crazy crazy."

Thanks Mama.

So I don't tell her about my road
trip with psychosis, or the pile of
suicide notes rotting in our county
landfill.

There are some things she doesn't
need to know.

Blue insides, I always thought I'd be
quick enough to catch the blood
before oxygen claimed it red.

Light bulbs flicker for days before
they go out, but knowing the warning
signs has never changed this relentless
ending.

This wallet is special, I remind myself.
It has my brother's preschool graduation
picture tucked inside,

his smile, all teeth, with gaps he pokes his
tongue through, and bright, clear blue eyes.
He has never seen a scar in his life.

When I start to wonder why I bother,
I make myself look at the photo.

Every time I say "goodbye",
my chest aches and I feel hopeless.
Will I ever see you again?
Was this even worth all the pain?

As I think of our journey together,
my head fills with regret;
while my heart feels empty and heavy.
I almost forget how to breathe.

In the end I know it was worth the fight,
but why does such a wonderful ride have to hurt so much?
I trust that life will bring us together again,
but my doubt leaves me with sorrowful sighs.

Sudden stop
on the pace that it flew
****** me awake
it doesn't seem good
hard to take
what to make
not easy it seems

"can we pretend that this never happened? can we pretend that the photo's on my phone, the pictures on the wall, the poems in my book the endless number of calls, the days out, the days in, the days somewhere inbetween, the nights, the lessons taught, the stories told and retold, till we both know them better than the back of our hands that touched when we didn't want them too, but i did, i did, i did."

tear it out cleanly.
it can heal i can deal with the scars i'm not afraid anymore
but i can't sustain this.
do not resuscitate me.