I don't have the right words
because I am absolutely exhausted
without me even realizing
in the past few weeks my depression has really taken a toll on me
everything feels more difficult
overwhelming
defeating
I realized I haven't really felt happy happy in weeks
I've just kind of looked forward to times where I have no responsibility because anything important is debilitating
people always seem to think you're unhappy because you miss someone or your just inconvienced
that once the weekend comes it will all be better again
when someone says something like that
I know they have never ever felt like I do right now
like my brain is clawing itself up in a war of conflicting feelings and thoughts
wanting happiness and feeling strictly prohibited

<!>
inspired by a conversation with Maira Kalman


******* a name, adopt a persona, let my fingers do the talking,
place the instrumental sharp point tip upon the blankety blank paper,
maestro baton raised, coordinating,
the first sound, the vocal chords trembling,  
the first thought, the ultrasound image, entrance of a first violin,
coalescing into, into the initializing single primary phonation,
the stinging geometry of chance at last,
throwing  down the gauntlet, glove slapping, and the
tendons tense, the mouth opens, release and indentation,
a letter's curvature, a black and white downward stroking,
a sign is televised, revealed and released

a one way only sign

time bends knee, gravity suspended, terror morphs to
expelling rapid firefights of imagery needy for spacing,
even pauses mid-word  leave just this:

where is the in in
intimate?

are you the in in
inmate,
or the jailor at the gate?

you swear never again

until committing once more,

a sentence commutation, by committing a first sentence,

and the greater toll taken and paid for,

and the in in in-nate,
questions your sanity

happily


<•>

9/17/17 10:55pm

sacred silence hangs on angel wings
blessing, watching over wakened night
fluttering on the screen, drawn to the light of
consciousness, the truth of darkened mornings.
strong, alone, remotely flipping through the
channels of the restless bar-room soul
charles bukowski, angry, drunk and droll;
pavement wisdom yanked inside, renewed and
resurrected.  rolling stone lays open,
having sprung the latent-night messiahs
preaching to insomniacal choir.
cryptic muse's recipe for coping:
be consumed, entombed, re-wombed by
worshiping and feeding written fire.

.......a parade of thoughts,
crowd its tip......sad...sweet,
scary...unpleasant...pleasant,
hopeful...or prohibited,thoughts
come.....one after the other,
like white circled smokes from a spectre,
smoking....hiding, behind the curtain,
triggered by a song, a verse, or somethin'
else.....like a photo, a voice...a memory...

when they come to haunt...and taunt
..... i just bow my head,
and let my  pen stand *****
or lean inside my palm,
allow it to make curves, loops and  
lines, to cross out untimely thoughts
on white blank pages...
pen struggles with me--whether or not, to share
my likes, dislikes, my disgust, fears, my despair...
my endless questions are frozen...wintered
within...i wonder, will they remain unuttered?
....the answers, as before, are uncertain...
.........my discontent, oh, so apparent...
::::
.....when i hold my pen...is when my soul
breathes and relaxes...it journeys...i forget all,
....hunger pangs do not enter my mind
..my troubled self....and the peaceful me
....join forces....their combined energy
flow freely, inside my inner streams...
...i sit tall when they bring out the best in me,
...wonder if i could bring back worst moments,
......and correct the wrong in them...but,
who's to say what is right? what is wrong?

when i hold my pen, i realize its might,
its omnipotent power....its written bold words,
exclamations, lines, commas, dots and dashes,
can incite, or douse strong actions and feelings
it softens the sharp edges of anger and pain
it can puncture deeper...better than a sword,
it can heal...soothe wounds and  slashes
.................inflicted by other pens


........when i hold my pen,
i let it speak for me...time and again...


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 21, 2018

for Tascha

deep in the pond of unhappy, swimming,
drowning the next contemporaneous
depression thought quickly swallowed,
desperation in quick glances everywhere,
dawn is no consolation but just another
daily drawing tighter of twine cutting
disillusionment


dear god, commences every thought,
delayed answers have yet to arrive,
**** the deity's non-responsivness,
dare not say out loud lest,
deserved fates be worse, be realized,
didn't know? how can that be?
disguiser par excellent, I am the original
deceiver

But I never think about

death or dying, for that would be
defeat finale, a statute to, a status of none, a
destiny some wick spark, still insists can be
deferred

differed always,
diffidently, but grasping yet at the
double entendre that is my
dark vision of a future already past

May 2015

go down
soft sound
midnight
car lights
playing with the air
breathing in your hair
go down
soft sound
step into your skin?
i’d rather jump in your bones
taking up your mouth
so you can breathe through your nose

my education has turned into a
competition i never agreed to enter.
i don't hate learning, but i hate
being taught by teachers who don't
care who really just work here
so they can coach.
everyone says, its preparing
you for the real world.
so the first 13 years of my education
is just a trial run?
i don't know what day of the week
or month it is, i think in test dates
and deadlines.
they say you need a good ACT/SAT
score to get into a good college.
fun fact: only 21% of people work
in the area that they majored in.
they make it seem like everything
is depending on this test.
i don't know how much
longer i can handle this weight
and pressure to perform.
i used to be gifted way back when
but now i'm not because i wan't
continually challenged.
i just need to make it through
this semester, then it'll be over for
a couple months, then the cycle
will start again...