All I hear tonight
is the cry of a lonely tree
Atrophied, desolate sighs
Distracted while writing
A hazy gaze
Where stars shining high
Not the dripping colors of gel pens
Colossal raindrops entered through
the untouched window
to my notebook
In another corner of the wooden lodge
Seashells plumb dancing in rhythm
To the lonely tree
Waiting to leave the roots
The earth-shattering bond
Withered, astounding beats
Rising winds swaying
the gleeful wild grasses
with panoramic peace
Forgotten Lonely Tree
Amid the rusty life
I would imagine
Love is not that far
No less is this romance
A letter in hand
unknown distant land....
Thought I'd re-write you this little love letter
to explain how you made me feel.
Because even though my heart was abit under the weather
You always made me feel so much better.
I hoped that our souls would intertwine so i could be your sweater.
And like wine im pouring myself out into the ether
So maybe in time you can hear me and realise that your a real treasure.
End of the night, middle of the day your on my mind whenever.
I wish i could have been by your side forever,
I can't believe what you made this Sinner feel.
All i thought to myself was "i hope that she has the same feeling in her".
But i still have a glimmer of hope.
An open letter to those who have dealt or tried or whichever with me during my depression and/or anxiety.
I wish I could stop. I hear that a lot. "Just stop." As if it were a switch I can turn on and off at my own will. If I could, I would've disabled that switch the minute I learned what the on was designed to do. If only I could stop if only I could
"Think positive" I hear that the most. I didn't think of that, nor did the twenty something people before you. As if I haven't dived into the deep end of positive affirmations for the riptide of negativity to pull me 20 times under. For every positive thought, my brain's defense brings up 20 reasons that the positivity isn't real or won't last, or my favorite, why do you even deserve to be positive.
I don't forget all the times you've said "people have it so much worse." I am so ungrateful for the roof over my head and the food I get to eat or the daily drinks I use to muffle the voices inside. I hate the privilege of having my friends and loved ones look at me through foggy lenses and lend me their advice. It comes from the bottom of your heart but it doesn't come from experience.
Oh and how can I forget how I'm acting like this out of attention. I promise if I wanted the attention, I would get it in a manner much more humorous instead of a pitiful pit stop of a parade I feel some of you think I am. I am not trying to guilt you or appeal to your pathos. I much prefer to evoke your happiness with jokes that mask the constant desire to not even exist.
Then it comes down to the people I've bared my mascara streamed, tear soaked, bare souled self to. I'm talking to you. The one who I know won't understand but I at least expect to be there. Because I know that when you only deal with it once a month it isn't a problem, take some asprin and put a tampon in and it's over before you know it. God forbid this curse drowns me for a week or two or three. I'm sorry to put a damper on your life. The one where you chant the positives and get on with it. You have the choice to leave. I don't.
I don't surrender to this illness. "I'm not a vicitm" I repeat constantly. I'm not trying to make up excuses as to why it's okay to act like this. I fight every day for a little breathing space, and sometimes I am consistently losing battles in this civil war for my own mind. I apologize that you bear the burdens of being on the front row sidelines of this imax screening of my life.
You see, when the anxiety is over, and the food I haven't eaten for a week is molded now, depression takes stage. Right on cue. A constant back to back showing for boys and girls, it's fun for the whole family. But even like the longest movies of our life, there are intermissions. I sometimes get to step outside the theatre and am reminded that it's still sunny outside, that there is a fresh breeze. I can hear my own thoughts for a moment and they aren't trying to kill me. I am reminded that I have people I love and who love me, despite every reason I have that they don't. I hold onto that feeling and submerge myself so when the next riptide pulls me under, I can somehow find myself at the surface.
Sometimes I resurface with new or stronger allies, and sometimes I lose them in the battle. Casualties of war. Those hurt the worst. The people I love the most, leaving me to find the surface alone. It's enough reason to start the next showing. Like that, I return to my stage, my battlefield, my diving board until the next intermission.
Dear Mrs. Zurash,
On this fine day, sitting by the windows and admiring the beauty of falling yellow leaves, I kept wondering why suddenly my mind adrift away - far to the last place we had visited. I can vividly see the blanket of shadows moving over the sea - the sun was crying to hide behind the dusty clouds. This obscurely foggy thought though, is giving me a chill to my stomach; the idea of a lone traveler seemed scary at the moment, for the matters we haven't not yet dissolved as a unit. Frankly, it is kind of a bit painful, I would imagine for any party. Or, maybe, it's just a burden that one meant to face by himself.
Regardless, why, after all this time, you are in the ocean of my thoughts?
For my own insanity, therefore, I decided putting my last ink on these papers to seek clarity to these unforeseen thoughts that are suddenly flooding my mind. Yet, if you are still reading this, proceed, please, just for the sake of old times.
I have tried to unfold our matters but still nothing is clear as to the causes and directions that our affairs derailed to.
Since the last letter I had sent you, the room has been quite for a while now. It feels like winter time. Subconscious, my late drifting might be related to this matter, nevertheless, uncertain and hard to admit, if that's in fact the case. All the affairs that we need to attain to are unclear as of this moment, however.
Now, I am almost on the last drips of my hot mug coffee, contemplating not to even signature this letter; it might help to reclaim my status of original insanity, perhaps.
I know nothing would ever be more that what they are, yet I feel I'm chained with my own selfish thoughts sometimes.
Written date known
We got back together on election day
As they say
When one door opens
Another one is threatened with missiles by China
We did not have the popular vote
Our electoral college hearts didn't care.
We knew our love deserved another term
I stole my girlfriends car to pick you up
Drive us to the voting booth in my old elementary school
It felt like by you entering that building we invented a tine machine
If we actually built a time machine
Do you think we would change the world somehow?
Step on one of our stomach butterflies or kill hitler.
when I hear butterfly effect I think of election day
I think of the butterflies in my stomach
Learning how to start the first fire with sticks
How we rub them together
Until the sparks catch
Watch each other become warm
For the first time
All over again
Your legs slide up behind the tiny curtain of the voting booth
They say not to let others know who you vote for
But you were very clear
I've never heard a louder pledge of allegiance from behind such a tiny curtain
We stole the tiny pencil
In exchange for your panties
I think it was a fair trade
I want to see the face of who found those in the ballet box
I wonder if the vote counted.
I feel like firing missiles into the ocean to showcase our willingness to destroy everything for domination
We still don't have the popular vote in our next term
Even after all this legislature
They only remember our campaign slogans
And sound bytes
No one reads bills we pass
Laws we right
We have so much love
It must be run like a country
Our Senate is skeptical of the leadership
Our people are butterflies
Giddily bumping into walls
And getting back up
If we are so bad at running this country why are the people so healthy?
What makes them sing so loud?
It's the letters we write.
I took our time machine forward
They keep our letters in a muesem
Display our hearts played out with our poetry
I always knew you deserved the attention.
There's a tank of caterpillars
Children watch them grow and set them free
A living breathing memorial
We really did found something beautiful.
When we passed on
They elected our children to run.
Our love still thrives
Inspires young writers
I saw a young girl reading your letter start to cry
I didn't need to look.
I knew which one it was
You haven't written it yet.
We might have shared flesh and blood, house and life, maybe grave and death.
but because of our parents we had to cut the line between us, as you are walking your way to the alcohol, and because of me! Never the loving, good friend.
all I can offer you now my poetic words of pain and regret, as you are drinking them away.
for not being the person I should have been, I am sorry, I never acted mature enough to build your line to the right.
it pains me to think of you puking your sadness and drinking them again as I write about you when you never hear.
When you think of me, I hope it's the good times we shared, and I hope you stop drinking.
Your claws sank into my sink and for a minute,
I experienced pain in the form of sharp needles piercing my insides,
I felt nothing.
The world was burning to the ground and I stood there watching.
I couldn't move my feet, regardless of the weightlessness.
For the first time in a long time, my heart didn't trip over itself and make a run for the nearest exit.
It just stood there, pounding,
Waiting for me to make a move.
And I didn't.
I allowed the world to go by, to poor gasoline all over itself,
And set the fires into flames.
I could care less whether they reached out and turned me to ashes or if I was the only one to make it out alive.
I just didn't care.
I wanted to separate myself from the world because,
The world did everything it possibly could to drown you and I wasn't willing to die like that.
I wanted to move yet everyone and everything kept placing me back into a pit of suffocation and anguish.
I wanted out,
And if it was with me standing still watching as death claimed the souls of everyone around me,
Then so be it.
All I'll feel is nothing,
I see you but you don't see me
At least not the way my eyes
Melt into yours,
Yours remain friendly and
--well they're gorgeous
Your eyes, I mean
And the rest of you too of course
Don't get me wrong,
I never intended to start this conversation
But now that I'm rolling I'll get on with it
Because if friendship is what I stand to lose
Then I'd rather be friendless than quiet
beyond sense and reason
when I can barely breathe anymore
-- that's hardly friendship!
Forgive me my bluntness but hey,
You love me for it
At least I hoped you would,
You talk so so little and I'm drowning
in my own words and indignations
I'll harden my heart and wrap it in cellophane
if you don't speak up.
Just a word or two...
You're so silent but I know
--your mind is drunk on vision
and vivacious colour and vibrant life.
So very unlike mine
with its monochromatic views
and topsy-turvy moods
You're chill as breeze
and your eyes are
-- well they're like molten hazelnut
Is your chin dimpled?
I believe it is,
--I've nearly forgotten your features
Your face is so hazy in my mind
I should have gazed a moment longer
But I knew you never understood
My peculiar looks
and prolonged eye contact.
It has been a while and I'm crooked,
Elbow-bent and frail-faced
Little remains and, I swear,
I go uglier by the moment
Distance is eating me out
Your silence holds
I suppose that means you're truly
as cold-blooded as your pet
Or I should move on
Because a rainbow can't appear
When it's only gloomy out
My rainclouds will empty
their heavy eyes elsewhere.
Perfection is easily attainable.
All you need is time.
Just build on a letter,
Then build on a line.
Take a deep breath,
Feeling utterly divine,
And offer up a thing of beauty—
It's what you had in mind.
By perfection I mean not completion
As the world may see it.
But when you hang a frame,
And see it's slight askew,
Though longer glancing at it,
You know it hangs true.