Here I am breathing. I woke up once again. I wish I was still sleeping. They say sleeping is the cousin of death. I’m not afraid of living or dying. I’m scared of feeling. Loss and suffering. Love and joy. To really live, you must nearly die. I’ve never felt so close to living. There’s a saying in Spanish. "El que tiene miedo a morir, que no nazca". I was born, but why? It’s just another day.

Meds help, sometimes at least. I forgot them today. Anxious if I do, anxious if I don’t. Duality of human nature. I’m too conscious. I pace in a small space and the world collapses into itself. I’m certain I’ll die in a couple seconds. I’m sure this time, I’ll die right here in my own mind. There’s no escape, but I can still leave. Not sure if I’ll ever feel better, until I do. Then, I can breathe again. Now every breath I take is less painful than the last. And my heart begins to relax, after running away from my problems. My hands no longer pulling at my hair. My palms still sweaty and my nose cold as ice. I can’t sit still or my heart will stop, or so it seems. Otherwise, I’m ok. Deep breaths to remind myself, I’m alive.
And that’s ok too. We only die once, so I remind myself to make it count.

These marks on my skin,
Reminiscent of
teeth and sharp nails
Digging into my arms.
With no effort,
you created hope, with pain.
On my left index finger,
Pealing and bleeding
For what seems like eternity.
I’d bleed out for you.

Pens and markers. Old receipts.
Gum wrappers. Her boots.
She could throw anything,
and I’d be okay with it.
To harm me? Or a playful gesture?
It doesn’t matter.
Throw it with all your might,
just mean it when you do.
She could throw herself,
and I’d catch.
But please,
don’t throw this away.

Unbearably humid. Beaming sunlight piercing thunderous clouds. Falling thousands of feet on my skin. I hope it washes away the sins of man, the pain of women, and the need to feel loved. For now, life is flourishing. But I’m patient.  Anticipating autumn’s return. So I can feel cold and numb again.