Should I be concerned about the state I'm in?
I'm not sure how bad it is,
honestly
I can't tell because
what used to be bad days are good days now
and I guess that's what people mean when they say
you'll learn how to live with it.
I think you just become one with your demons
and soon you're saying things you never thought you would
like maybe happiness isn't all everyone says it is,
maybe weakness is a kind of strength,
maybe I just won't get better and that'll be okay because
recovery
is a marathon, not a sprint
but some days I can't even bring myself to get out of bed
so that trek seems impossible.
I am getting used to the emptiness;
I hardly think about it now,
and by that I mean I always think about it so
it doesn't seem like a big deal anymore
and these days crying is a nonevent,
my eyes are bloodshot more often than they are clear,
and my friends have stopped asking how I'm doing.
I guess I seem pretty stable and
I guess that's accurate,
I'm pretty regularly in a state of numbness
manifesting itself in
tequila and
the word okay and
art that people choose not to see the underlying meaning in.
I have written a suicide note every day for the past six months
but I call it poetry
and that somehow makes it okay to say these things-
by putting my turmoil into stanzas
it becomes a metaphor rather than a cry for help and
nobody will take this one seriously, either,
nobody seems to be concerned about the state I'm in.
I am learning to live with it.

Fruit pizza
I’m eight years old
Running around the house with a cape tied around my neck
Ingredients:
Sugar cookie dough
Strawberry cream cheese frosting
Sliced fruit of choice
My teddy bear’s name is Kate, after baby Kate from Arthur
We had to stop watching that show because my sister started acting like D.W
I told Kate everything because she was the best at keeping secrets
I didn’t realise she couldn’t talk back to me
Preheat oven to 350
Eat cookie dough because no matter what mom says, it’s not really going to **** you
Spread cookie dough evenly on a pizza pan
As the youngest of seven loud siblings of various ages, I had to learn at a young age how to be heard
I can yell with the best of them, but you would never know given my quiet tendencies today
I still haven’t completely grown up yet
In my mind, I’m still that little girl who read picture books and made up games like hurricane and the tripping machine
Let cookie cool
Wash fruit and slice it neatly
In my mind, I am still the little girl who did things because she wanted to and therefore got put in time out a lot
Spread strawberry cream cheese frosting on cookie
In my mind, I am still protected by the shelter of my parents
In my mind, Kate can still talk
Place fruit in a circular pattern on the frosted cookie
Cut into even pieces
I’m eight years old
Fruit pizza.

You made...
...this goldfish...
...smile.

© 2014 J.S.P.

It is not intentional, a separation of worlds.
I am standing, waiting for when I
have to lend a helping hand. The party
has come and gone, and I am eager to be on my way.

There is a truck backing into the lot,
a U-Haul with two workers.
One is beside the truck coaxing the driver along.

There is a strange magnetism between his life and mine,
that brought him and me to the same place.
Though he never sees me,
I feel responsible to remember his face.

A dimension lapses between us,
though time and space remain the same.
Our entirely separate lives happen to cross,
but no one expects a reunion in the future.

I once knew a guy
Who had a strange reply
If I would talk about a certain friend
He would say "oh you referring to that black guy."
And if I said about another
The color descriptions came out further
So I decided to teach him a lesson
A few things about color.

I invited him to dinner 
With friends from different races
And when asked to be introduced
I began this way.

I am pink, my friend here is white
She's yellow, he's red, over there are brown and black.
Now with the introductions done, could tell me which color are you?

All I got a was jaw dropping colorless face staring back at me.