We find it in the bottom of a cup
In a wine glass or beer mug
Imbibing all manner of spirits
Until the blackness takes hold.

Or in a person who eases our spirit
A phone call, a message.
Acknowledging our existence
And letting us know we’re loved

Some people find it in lines on a mirror
Or in a needle that leaves scars
It’s smoked off of a spoon
Or rolled in some paper

Other people cut, pain to ease pain
Slicing away bits of anxiety and flesh
Leaving thin long reminders of
Feelings best forgotten

Some find it in poetry, vomiting feelings
Onto a pristine white page until
It’s full and stained in emotion  
An artwork of agony

A few seek moments alone to
Close their eyes and meditate.
Counting breaths and clearing imagination
Getting lost in the maze of their minds

Some brave individuals
Listen to blues and sorrow
Their anxieties leaking from their eyes
And out of their noses.

Me. Maybe I do them all
Maybe I don’t.