oooo
i haven't written in a minute.

i talked to someone and the conclusion was if you got nothing
trapped inside
you got nothing to write about.

it seemed true.

i look back on my old writings,
full of angst and bad rhymes,
so much anger and sad.

i'm pretty happy these days,
and i guess it must be some sort of true
because i don't find myself drawn to writing.

but if i had something to say i would say

it's been nice getting to know this side of myself
i've been learning and growing and
i've been in awe of my capacity to exist
and exist better
of staying alive despite such a constant
urge to walk into passing cars
a lingering wonder of what
would happen if i just fell down these stairs.

i though the big sad was over and then i realized it just mutated,
this time is different because i'm taking my meds
every day if i can remember.

twenty two was so good and made so much sense,
but looking bad i still looked pathetic and depressed,
although definitely
Better.

now it feels like a job.
i attempt to say
"okay,
it is a possibility that i could fall down these stairs.
but it is just as likely that i'll make it all the way down
without any additional damage"
and wouldn't that be a good time?