Sick girl, the doctors said they saved you
but are you really alive?
Your hair is still falling out of your scalp.
There are still scars on your tender skin.
Your mom still cries when she sees you.
Your dad looks at you with worried eyes.
Is that concern just a disguise?
What can you do make it alright?
If open wounds don’t bleed,
and match stick burns don’t sting.
Don’t you think it’s getting old?
How you can save a body, but you can’t save a soul?

My addiction likes to play games with me

I try to hide, but it seeks me

On every occasion, or party

I want to just stay home-

***** it out with a pillow

Till it stops breathing

As I watch too much TV,

Count the drinks on the screen

Like counting sheep

3 pints of *****

2 beers

1 shot of whiskey

I feel myself changing

Between shifts, with no breaks in between

Some work overtime, I hear my addiction breathing-

3 PINTS OF *****

2 BEERS

1 SHOT OF WHISKEY

I would tell you all about it

But it’s a long story,

All guts and no glory

I can only talk about it when I’m drunk

On too early of a morning

Or when my eyes are stuck

On a ceiling fan, when I spin with the room

Words are fluid- like, they used to be

Now my lips are a broken cocoon

The words die behind a prison of teeth

Just old ideas, dead memories

That no one needs to hear or see

Sorry I won’t be seeing you at any parties

Sorry I won’t spill my guts for free

Or wait for you to wave to me

Hit me with the “how are you doing?”
    
Its not that I want to hide from you,

But my anxiety is looking for bullet wounds

Addiction hides in the skin

Of the people across the room

They have been shooting looks at me,

Every eye blinking my direction is lightning

Its striking me; how frightening

How fragile I can be, I’m sorry

Maybe that’s why

I plug myself into a wall

I stitch my mouth shut

And scream through the keyboard

Because I don’t want you to stop reading,

Or stop listening,

Just because

You don’t see me

At parties

I want to apologize,
Ahead of time
for my, my,
My isolation

I'm certain you've heard it before
If I have to leave I must go
Don't judge me for my, my
My miscommunication

I'm not trying to bring you down with me
If I have to go, just let me leave

Don't want this to be so melancholy
I just want to be lost with nobody

Don't let me bring you down.
I just can't care anymore.

I been so carried up, with all these affairs,
all these stupid affairs
That don't fair with me

I can't complain about a predators trap
If I lazied in her hungry attack

But lately, please excuse me,
And the stomach aches
It's been acidlicy displeasing living as her bait

I'm just trying to make it all by myself
Without that woman, that lady, my mistakes

Don't let me bring you down.
I just can't care anymore

That woman came and get me
And then left my heart to break
I feel the pound gate closing
I feel the cage just the same
It must be so easy to let a man fade
Oh, I'll just hurt you just like that scarred day
Next time someone loves me
You'll be making all the mistakes

Don't let me bring you down
I can't care anymore.

I'm sorry it was a ****** night for you
But you seem to have a lot of those
And there's nothing I can do

My therapist recently asked me "have you ever tried mindfulness?"
I laughed a bit, remembering of the week-long mindfulness camp (sugarcoated for in-patient psychiatric care) I attended for troubled teens. I went to this twice.
This peaceful brain training was designed to give us a retreat when the world is too loud. During group therapy, most teens shared their experiences with domestic violence, yelling, S.A., running away, abuse. Endless. We were all numb, but there was so much comfort in being locked away with others who needed the respite as much as I did.
We would eat skittles and describe their flavor and textures. We would focus on our breaths. Make beaded art. Tell collaborative stories. Follow guided meditations laying on unfamiliar gym floors, giggling a bit as we "soared through clouds".
I jumped back into the talk session, remembering my dedication to mindfulness years ago. My anxiety followed me into adulthood. I think mindfulness can be out of reach, stupid.
And yet, I looked out of her dusty, sun filled window decorated with three vases of dry arrangements. My mind started to posture into how warm and antique this image felt. I felt hot, quiet tears building up from feeling that peace again.

fingers flirt with the flames
of a feeling I don’t understand.
lighter fluid coats my hand and
I don’t bother to wash it off.
tears begin when my parents yell
because twenty years of
abuse, alcohol, and neglected anxiety
takes its toll on the adult mind.
‘i’m over it,’ i say as i drink
my second beer of the day
at nine in the morning.
i light a cigarette and
catch on fire and hope
my parents forgive me enough
to realize not everything is my fault.