I only have time to creep on
social media I only
have time to stare at someone
from my past
my adult life, my twenties
can be summed up to what
I woke up at 9am with the November sun
beaming through broken white blinds
I layed in bed thinking about where
it went wrong
I forced myself to journal three morning
pages they always seem
to be about me missing someone
then I went to the clinic because
HPV was a concern
turns out it’s just a skin irritation
the doctor reported this to
me with so much joy
I kept that joy for a few hours
after I left
then I shoved peanut butter cups
in my mouth while silently
color coding a rack of long sleeve
shirts thinking about my place
in capitalism thinking about
the fall of capitalism
feeling the band aid from the blood
that i had drawn earlier suffocate
the crevice of my arm
I got home showered and then
ripped an inch of my skin off
while taking it off
I go to bed
Alone for a while with myself.
My body feels like it is empty.
I’m too weak and fragile to go on.
I need someone to feed me and to push my hair back.
I’m looking for a love.
I’m looking for love and nurture to
come towards me in full force.
But maybe I just have to give
it to someone else
then I’ll be able to feel it
give it to feel it
I’m trying to figure out the world
but there is no key
just Bob Dylan singing out of key
about his lack of friends
and that at least he has his voice
and guitar. I get that at least I have my voice
within all of the changes
that I entangle myself in.
It all hurts.
I thought had been cured with CBD, but it all hurts.
I feel like branches
holding up a teal dress.
Or like a ghost
who does the same routine
a ghost with ocd walking the streets
looking for a ghost friend from the past.
What can fill this void.
Who can fill this void.
Maybe having a child.
But that would require someone to have one with.
That would require this
that There is so much it feels that I don’t have.
Or maybe I’m just not being grateful.
I have friendships. I have life.
I have an ego that has been wounded.
Specifically when he chose
everyone over me and had failed to tell me.
I had to dig the truth
and hurt myself.
I’m waiting for an apology
that’s not going to come.
I’m waiting for my love and all of the dogs
to come back to me.
I’m still grieving several almost deaths.
Judy Garland say it with the spoken word country mouth which I never fail to hold artists I never fail to hold artist I walk these empty streets back and forth white walls I walk uphill I walk uphill with a hunchback holding things all the things I see my breath and look at my reflection while walking down the hill I sit and can see blocks from here with my glasses on the dog is barking the dog is barking
It’s been 26 days since the heartbreak of the century
26 days since I found out what
it’s so stupid
believing that this is it
the only thing
broken or full
it happened mid-day
the dust and the light from the street filled
me leaving an empty line
a canal where my spirit is
I walked home in disbelief
Its been 26 days
a number of days helps
I’ve stopped crying in the morning
and I’ve stopped looking for your car
in retrospect this will look miniscule, amateur,
He didn’t take anything I swear he didn’t I’m whole I’m whole in every sense of the word more whole than when I met him more whole than a rushing waterfall fireworks and smoke behind a skyline mid July green so whole more whole than
in complete despair
and under unsatisfactory life
I hold onto a rejection
of being replaced and ignored
I find the details out later, but in the
moment there is a knowing
its hovering in my hollow gut
mistaking them for butterflies
trying to understand
why they kind of feel like butterflies
the Lights above are fluorescent
zoom back to me staring
at the pink and green mascaras
a group of kids walk by
discussing who is the strongest
and who hasn’t cried
because of a death
I’m trying to pinpoint
the source of my suffering
my protruding collar bones
are sensing something
my lack of appetite
as i walk on the crunchy leaves towards
the early evening autumn light
around the corner to my car, hear you say bye babe
I said bye at least
hopefully it ‘s that the last time
you’ll see me
the other day on the car ride to the grocery store
you were speaking on the phone to your mom
she asked who you’re cooking for
you made sure to not name me
I’m nonexistent transparent solely
a breath fogging the passenger seat
she also asked if your people
got back, as in you were cooking
for the woman you’re working for
your shoes are under her bed
I don’t believe you
here is a present to
the girl whose ring I
pawned I slipped
of her right hand
I put her back together
painted the back of her
she wasn’t looking
I went to visit my mother in Florida
she greeted me with a scar on
her forehead from when she
claims to have fallen while gardening
I told her that it looks like harry potters scar
there’s a lot of pain associated
with that scar
I can tell
her teeth are also missing
but that’s not new
half of her mouth is teeth
she says that it’s normal,
that’s what happens when you’re old
but she’s only 60 years old i tell her
when I arrived the dog greeted
my cat slowly looked back at me
it all felt like a distant sense of home for a solid
the same waves of sadness would come
and I left mute
I seemed to have lost the magic along the way. Perhaps it was stuffed in an old green backpack, lost somewhere in upstate New York and covered in leaves from several years ago. It doesn’t really matter when your in a new place or in mountain town. I’m making friends with the people I have known in a different lifetime. But still I feel like I lost something along the way.
Everyone is on a journey to a different country. I’m in a new place but still looking for that new country. Experience, yes, that is what I have acquired. Observation helps, like the observation I made of a temporary lover. That’s all I did actually. I watched him. I watched him as I let him into my house. He would tornado around my room and kitchen and then ask to use my bathroom. Announcing profound romance but not looking at me in the eye. I would watch the blood stains on his shirts. What’s crazy is the amount of effort he would put in to hide a major part of himself. The worst part, the addictive manipulative part. He wanted to keep that close. Let it shine. Let some air in. He’s cornered in the bathroom holding onto the thing that he has grown accustomed to and the ritual he would die for.