some feelings now
have faded
like the tears and
panic i washed off

but others remain
still the urge to
cry and still the stings
where i am hurt

i am no longer
a child
but my sleeves
tell me i am vulnerable
and immature
seeking attention
and never think
about anyone's feelings
but my own

my sleeves tell me
i am selfish

and i want to cry
for if those things
were really true
i think hurting
myself would be low
on my list of priorities
and instead i would go
after targets less close
to the center of my
regrets

hurt and violate others
people i won't have to
see every day
for the rest of my life

but there they are
cuts and scratches
i'll keep to myself
trying not to be selfish

you left me fumbling
uncomfortably attempting to adjust my ideas
as you carefully slipped yourself out of the
home you had made in my heart,
you left no note
although you owed me nothing
i still felt betrayed

god, i've written so many poems about you
despite the fact that you'll never read them
thinking about you tears my chest in half
and i keep reopening the wound
you were never mine to begin with
but when i see you with others
i grow irrationally jealous
it's been so long
but time cannot heal all wounds

selfishly i wonder
what if you had been mine?

When one is forced to stop drinking, the first thing felt is shame. It is recognition that coerced abstinence was inevitable. The court told me No alcohol and I said Okay. An assessor of the state told me If you picture life past 30, you stop now: he might have added For the longevity of both you and your relationship(s), but it might be his own history stopped him. The morning I crashed my car was not cold like today. Suburbs are generally quiet at four-thirty; runaways choke-chain drooping eyes to a bedpost for a few more fickle hours, hoping (praying) body keeps pace with hunger. I was hungry, and we went to get food. My brow beats ripples into the airbag. In county my sheltered white life was a blanket doused in gasoline. The sheltered white mind may scream but the sheltered white body cowers under concrete. In class I was assured Alcoholism runs in the family. The gene plagues Hendrix men as a curse of choice. It's a gun in a knife case. Six months sober; it still itches. I'm still hungry. The state told me I was Lucky [I] didn't **** someone. I was selfish. I was selfish because I thought they meant me.

Lay back

ponder things

as times consumes

sentimentally speak through your mind

and let  your chaotic soul

dealt it with complexity

My cell phone lights up
Its my friend George:
Come back to the hospital Chris
You cannot afford to miss this

I stare at my withered face a little longer
in the mirror
My reflection has been torn asunder
I look tired, unfit to wear the uniform
thrown under my desk
Combing my hair, checking my teeth
I allow this present demon to dissipate
Amongst the broken tendrils
of haunting thoughts
And a horrible screaming cacophony

Meeting my gaze and preparing
for whatever the weather
has become outside
Pulled by a premise of the reprisal
to my fantasy
Perhaps the length of this silence
Is actually foreshadowing a miracle
I believe

I'm led by the shadows
of alternate realities
Harnessing the power to stifle this sequestering doubt
and all my fears
As I shut the door, I walk with footsteps
That imagine running to greet you
Holding you tight and holding back tears
As if it was the first time I'd meet you

I strengthen my resolve
It brings me pain to revolve
My strained thoughts
Around fairy tales
All the while Jacoby Shaddix is echoing
'She loves me not'
My third eye blind pushes me in
'The background'
And simultaneously, I tell myself
'Keep the soul, that's control'

I feel my heart pounding in my chest
Beads of sweat trace the lines of my palms
Because I know that if I had seen her today
I could leave everything else behind
It would all be beautifully different
Instead I receive the most disappointing news this week

Because I've learned that when the difference between
What you know and what you believe
Is rubbed in your nose and laid at your feet
Even that cupcake...
And everything else is bittersweet

the world may be your oyster,
...
but keep in mind that some of us are allergic to shellfish.

{d.f. | 12/07/17}