My reality is ephemeral-
I have trouble comprehending
what's actually real anymore.
My thoughts play too into what is in front of me
and I misconstrue almost every instance.
I am capricious and conflicted at all times-
never knowing my wrongs from my rights
never really feeling entitled to what I feel.
So I feel like my feelings are never valid
does that mean my invalidation is invalid?
Conflicted.
Constantly.
So I count the only things I know for sure.
1) My mother gets headaches, migraines actually. Everyday-
doctors visits followed by phone calls which say "You're fine" but from what I see she is not fine. She drinks her soda and smokes her cigs. Finds her only peace of mind in this piece of mine. Mary is her friend.
2) My Dad gets pains in his hands to where he can't write some days. He loses feelings in them on occasion. He coughs for a half an hour every morning spitting up the mucus that lines his lungs. He drinks coffee and then goes for a cigarette. He drinks his beer and finds solitude in an alcohol content higher than my gpa. I start to wonder what's more important to him.
3) My brother works hard, he's lazy on some days but puts in effort where it really matters. He drinks his makers and tries to drown out whatever he feels the need to. He grows things to remind himself he can. He is a lot like my father.
4) I have a 3.4 gpa currently, I am bipolar type II. Most days I have at least two anxiety attacks, one if I get really lucky. I wake up everyday feeling sick. I have endometriosis. I was molested, twice. I am currently still trying to repair the love that was ripped from me like my heart was being taken to the black market for some pocket change. I drink my coffee, and drown my sorrows in blank pages and bury them into my therapists couch on wednesdays. I never satisfied with the affirmation I receive. I find solitude in dark corners. I am at war with myself..
I would like to turn this around-
flip the script and make something happy out of this.
But reality is not happy-
reality is nothing but perception.
Your reality can be happy
if you turn a blind eye to the destruction
or just appreciation that it breeds creation.
Always question.
Never settle.
Remember the things to which are true.
1) The grass is green, but not everyone sees the same shade.
2) Rain is necessary for growth, but it can also ****.
3) Technology is rapidly advancing faster than we can learn about it.
4) Poetry is the greatest magic trick we can hope to know, seeming one way but appearing another to every single individual who comes across it. Poetry is the biggest con artist and the best therapist. It is lined with metaphors and double entendres, it sits in stanzas and hopes to be read.
This is the end of the poem
and I have trouble feeling okay
with how things have been mapped out for me
aligned by the universe in one shape or form
we are all just shapes and forms
and we're constantly waiting in line-
filling out forms
in hopes of filling our voids
by doing a line of some sort
until our check voids
and the cycle continues.
Maybe that's why I see myself
whenever I look into the washer.
Longing to be washed away-
ring me out, hang me up
I want to feel like I am able to be worn.