I try to reconcile with my bones,
bargain with them to stop burning
as they touch the inside of my skin
embers falling into my bloodstream
as agonizing seconds pass
and I cry into the blood-stained
sheets on my childhood bed,
I ask my bones to stop twisting
into creatures I do not understand
seething with anger
that I cannot control
breathing hot coals around my veins
as I attempt to fight my own body,
even though I have always known
it is useless to try.
I ask my bones to give me a break
from the constant suffering they make me endure,
but they laugh at my pleading
and continue to reshape themselves
in the image of my darkest thoughts

My doctor diagnosed me
with restless legs
and I say:
That is my body trying to outrun itself,
my legs try to flee
when it believes my mind is already asleep,
it is searching for a way out
but only finds discomfort
and never-ending sleepless nights
in its fight to be free

I feel the words coming back
and I’m not sure if that is good or bad
I write and write
only when there is unending turmoil inside
strengthened by the fear
that I may be getting bad again
sad
lost
trying to maneuver my bones
in this lightless room
I was not equipped
to be in charge of my body
on another trip into the darkness

There have been many days without me
and there will someday be much more
but what has changed is the waning of
my own personal desire
to reach it faster,
instead
I am fascinated by the world
never the same at any given time
obsessed with how the light bends
around my fingers as I reach for the sky
finding new ways to fall in love with the fact
that I no longer want to die
and in turn, hoping to make the days with me
mean more than I could ever have imagined
instead of years ago when I was just hoping
for it all to end

I have a heavy kind of sorrow
from losing something
that was never mine to lose,
mind straying to what could have been
haphazardly dreaming about
scenarios that were never meant to be,
bending to the will of some unknown force
that lives inside me
and aches for the world to be different
than it was when I ran from
the words that haunt me at night
and I am wracked with guilt
for hurting those who only wanted the best for me,
letting my stuttering heart decide
what what would make up the rest of me,
even as I am drowning in the ocean
it put me in,
this sorrow keeps breaking me
repeatedly screaming what I may have done wrong
and I am chained to my body
losing something over and over again
that I have no right to mourn

There are things they don’t tell you about getting older,
how one day you will realize
that the home you grew up in
no longer feels like home
and you’ll be yearning for somewhere else
even as you are sleeping in the bed
that you slept in as a teen,
these changes come slowly,
but hit you all at once.
They do not tell you
that you will look the same
as you did last year
and last week
but you will feel like the world
shifted a few inches overnight
not telling you that it was going to do so,
but leaving you to pick up the pieces
of the memories it left as it moved,
you will grow to understand
that some things will never make sense
no matter how much you shake your fist at God
and cry into your mother's shoulder,
they do not tell you that you will not always be able
to cry into your mother's shoulder
or call your dad when your car breaks down
or feel comfortable in the places
that used to make your eyelids relax
into peaceful sleep,
they are too busy learning these things themselves
that they forget to tell you the things
you wish you knew
before it was too late.

How do I heal
without the memories splitting my skull,
breaking free from the prison I put them in
to protect myself from me.
How do I find any peace of mind
if I have been at war with myself for ages
when I don’t even know where I put
my white flag,
it might be under the remains of my soul,
burned black in the battle
that left me looking for my humanity.
How do I look forward
if my neck is permanently back,
looking for answers in a world that doesn’t give any
toes pointed toward sunshine
head towards pain
and there is nothing in my brain
saying, stay safe
there is nothing telling me how to stay sane.
These days I ask myself how I can heal,
without ripping myself apart again
remembering what got me here
and I am left to pick up each piece
of who I am
and tear it apart
hoping that one day I’ll learn how to
put myself back together again