Sun up till sun down
Trapped in a perpetual frown
Moon comes then she goes
Drops free fall from my nose
Waking hours in the daylight
Aimless motions; clumsy, puppet-like
Waking hours in the night
Uncomfortable in my own skin and psych
Sleeplessness be my companion
Restlessness be my actions
Despondence be my demon
Crest fallen be my reason
Frantically sifting through my head
Vertically upright or supine in bed
Compartmentalising might be key
To fend off self inflicted insanity
Desperation hangs overhead; ripe and bruised
Excuses upon excuses ridiculously overused
Furiously typing before my mind curds
Hopes of finding peace in these unspoken words
Darkness is upon me... Please excuse my rantings
A second choice
The back up plan
An "if she says no" second thought.
That's all I am to you.
And I wasn't even worth that
No, she wanted you.
And what was she to you?
A sideline play?
The same as I am now?
But to me she was far more than that
More than you gave her.
More than anyone ever did.
And now you hate her, she hates you too.
Shouldn't I hate her too?
I mean after all that's happened
It seems only right.
But I'm more uncomfortable with you
For hurting her now.
She remains in my thoughts,
A haunting memory.
I'll still feel the urge to protect her
Though I laugh when you joke about her,
I know I'll feel it later.
The guilt that I could witness her last breath.
That I may cause it.
I couldn't find a way to save her,
Now I can't save you either.
So I'll drown on my own
In the pain
in the memories
in my head
With no one left to save me.
With your inherent privilege
Please, make another joke
About ****** harassment
It's funny right?
Especially because you're joking that
Your male coworker is sexually harassing you
*** jokes are funny too, huh?
That's the same male coworker
Who I had to explain
Just hours beforehand
How the ****** encounter he described
Did not include informed consent
I'm curious how you'll fare
After I told the manager
About the content of your jokes
(Not the proudly homophobic one,
Who then looked uncomfortable
But seemed pleased when I told him that
I had already called you out
Because that means he doesn't have to
Because he wouldn't anyways
It doesn't affect him
Just some harmless humor
So then I tell my coworker about your joke
Who then responds with:
"He's still doing that ****?"
Because no one there seems to care
About jokes that put me
The only person at work read as a girl
(Which I'm not by the way)
In an extremely uncomfortable position
Why is no one else uncomfortable?
Why does no one else say anything?
They're all like you
Or they don't want you to judge them
Because you have that power
Because you're a
It was a long night at work tonight. I don't have the emotional energy for this ****.
The wood is stacked for winter.
One way out of the mind's limitations
is through other minds' contemplations.
The books are stacked for winter.
Yet even that cannot satisfy.
Failing to hold still for meditation
my teacher smiles, makes this observation:
The purpose of sitting's not to be satisfied
or satiated. Remain hungry,
cold, uncomfortable and counting enemies.
These, and fear, are our commonalities,
and the discipline of not hitting whenever angry.
You'll appreciate dying
quietly at home. Whichever season has been randomly selected will be
beautiful as ever
as a molecule of water is to all matter.
"In my life there were always too many things."
If there is no time, only change
the linear becomes circular.
Do not say north or south. You're
within the winter range
of chickadee, hawk, owl and heron.
River grapes, rose hips, the cedar waxwings'
repast. Their talk is my reminding
there is change and endurance.
Live as a person and you'll die a memory.
Though you may be well-loved and
Though you may fight till the last day,
Time will wash and scrub until you fade.
Your life may be beautiful,
Your life may be plain,
But living for yourself will ensure
You die vain.
Live as an ideal and you'll live eternally.
Though you may live selflessly,
Though you may never sport diamond rings,
It will be about you the songbirds sing.
Your life may be uncomfortable,
Your life may be full of pain,
But living for a cause ensures
Nothing you do is in vane.
A perfect life is achieved
When balance hits it's true stride,
A perfect sight for all is
When these two paths do collide.
More prosaic verbiage.
Couple inches in
A river in the pit of miscreant
Now it's forgotten,
It's getting drowned out until I know what the hell to do
Dont comfort me
And it pulls at my sensory glands
To look like an elaborate ruse
Thing's that make me uncomfortable:
That feeling when you get mad at me,
because I didn't do the thing, you didn't ask me to do, cause I can't read minds; I'm not your parent.
That tone in your voice when you go off about how unfair the world is, triggered by the slightest setback.
The feeling when I sacrifice all that I am for the sake of your mood and happiness, in vain.
That sound of the exacerbated sigh when I ask you to run an errand, as if I am not also tired.
The pressure of carrying us both on broken legs.
The pit in my chest when I ask your opinion and you say "I don't care," but you actually do care, because whatever choice I make is laced in ridicule.
When you say you're doing something for me but you're just trying to make yourself feel better about doing it for yourself.
When you use my disorder as a justification or excuse, but when I actually need your help you seem burdened and annoyed.
That "okay then" moment when I give you everything you ask for and you take it as if you never wanted it.
"If love is a labor, I'll slave till the end." -Rise Against
"these words are knives that often leave scars" - Panic! at the Disco
it used to be
talking to you
I’ve never been
just being around you.
God didn't promise us a comfortable life.
But one that would be uncomfortable.
The spiders have found the spot on your back you can’t reach
They grew into that monkey you can’t shake
But then you find The one.
There is she to identify that monkey
they all demand that piggyback ride your lower back can’t support
You thrash to frantic scramble then call them your own
We are a unit, let’s call it a family
We are now uncomfortable in our comfortability
Let’s call it love, call it what we know
Duct tape it together and say it’s fixed
Let’s call it love out of fear of the unknown
Smile for the photo, smile out of fear
Ham wasn’t happy, but we all saw his teeth.
When you're involved with someone, you slowly collect these little pieces of their life. The 40 minute break that they have between their classes on Tuesdays. The amount of sugar that they like in their coffee. The time that they wake up for work on Monday mornings. The side of the bed that they prefer to sleep on. And then this day comes when everything comes to an end. However, these little pieces stay with you. You feel so incredibly empty while you drown in the fragments of their day-to-day life. Suddenly, you find yourself wandering around aimlessly for 40 minutes on Tuesday afternoons. You don't put sugar in your coffee anymore. You sleep in on Monday mornings. You lay in the center of your Queen-sized bed. You float around in this uncomfortable space between the life you lived before and the life you shared with this person and their little pieces. You float here for a while as you try and get back to a life that is all yours again. A life that is familiar and forever different. And you know that this will happen time and time again, you will repeat this agonizing process of building up and tearing down and rebuilding until that one day, where nothing comes to an end.