Not One, or Two, I’m All Three

I’m Positive

Don’t give up 

Keep holding on

If you ever leave

I don’t know what I’ll do

Your times not up

It will all be okay

Just look on the bright side

It’s a brand new day 

I’m negative

You’re too broken

To be fixed

Not good enough

To be kept

Or loved

Or held

when you cry

On the floor

You’re too negative 

Too dark

You let things consume

Until suicide is nye

You hold blades to your wrist

But can’t do the deed

Hold pills in your hand

But numb out 

Instead

Too weak to make true

Your wishes of death

Too strong 

To hold on 

day after day

For some semblance

Of hope

Or a single sun ray

To give life

To give meaning

To the sad soul within

I’m morally grey 

I’m neither sunshine

Or clouds

I’m the foggy in between

The world holds this beauty

That’s been left unseen

By eyes grown accustomed 

To light

Or to dark

In the haze 

Of the light

Overcast 

In Perfection 

Light and dark

Day and night

The difference between

Ambiance

And candle light

“One Day”

​“One Day” 

        is a cruel 

             humorless farce.

There’s no one day

You’re stuck in a torturous hell loop, 

      Producing the same mistakes

Over and over again.

You look for love, 

      For life, 

          For forever,

And end up living 

        in a purgatory 

of your very own design.

You want love,

      You get lessons,

You want acceptance,

           You get distance,

You want inclusion,

                   You end up alone

There’s no such thing as a happy ending,

       Or a happy, healthy home

              Only happy beginnings

        Or tearful endings

 And nothing but shitty timing…

Conversations With You

​

The most adult conversation 
You and I ever had 
Was while you were laying on the floor 
While I laid in our bed 
You looked up and laughed 
Said you couldn’t take me seriously 
Because I slid over the side 
So we could talk eye to eye

The love was still there 
But admiration took a turn 
When our lives became too much 
And turned into two halves 
Of a different whole 
It wasn’t that long ago, 
But something came in between 
Call it sorrow or nightmares 
Or something else entirely

In unison we sighed 
With a realization we couldn’t hide 
Finally it reared its head 
The answer that had been left unsaid 
Maybe it was time 
To stop fighting what was clear 
In difference we should stay 
But maybe it was better off that way 

Because love was still there 
It was admiration that took a turn 
When our lives became too different 
And spiraled into two 
We were no longer each-others halves 
Just a half of another whole 
It wasn’t too long ago 
When something came between 
Our love and our safety 
Or something else entirely

The most adult conversation 
You and I have ever had 
Was you laying on the floor

My arms crossed 
on the side of the bed 
You looked up at me and laughed 
As you explained how weird we were 
When we were once bound 
And now laughing about being no more 
Than friends who used to be lovers 
At midnight on the bedroom floor

Poem: Explaining the Void

​

I’ve never felt a pain quite like this before. 

I don’t even know if you could term it as easy as pain. 

It’s an ultra-concentrated feeling of utter despair 

Seasoned with sadness, anger, and other unnamable feelings I cannot grasp. 

It’s like the life has been taken from my soul like a plant starved for light or one not watered enough and completely starved for weeks on end. 

Only being fed just enough to survive, but barely.

It's like a survivor eating bark to keep on surviving, waiting for search and rescue to find them cuddled up to a bloodied volleyball.

It's like stabbing through each bandaid you put over a newly dressed wound and changing it repeatedly since you keep bleeding through.

It’s cutting off an appendage and having to repeat the sordid story ten times until someone realizes you’re bleeding all over the ER floor eight hours later. 

It’s being told you’re not on fire when you clearly see the flames or told you’re not drowning as you take your last full breath.

It’s being told you were misunderstood when you explained that 1+2=3 when the clear answer is definitely 1, and maybe you should go back to math class because clearly you misunderstood the basics. 

It’s bleeding out in front of people who know you don’t bleed that much and then acting like it’s an average Tuesday while their feet are stained red. 

My chest is full, my heart is numb, I feel full of emotion, yet none at all. 

My body hurts, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth because I long to scream that I’m not all right, but everyone’s wearing earplugs and can sleep soundlessly through the night.

It's The Little Things

​You’re the calm autumn wind,

The one that chills my feverish skin,

You’re the perfume of wood stove fires,

Of fresh coffee on to brew,

You’re the breeze through my hair, 

As I imagine you there,

You’re the daisies in the meadows,

We passed that one summer day,

 

You’re the rushing river current,

And drizzling of the rain,

Your voice melodic like the crickets,

Chirping under an aurora sky,

Your eyes the color of honey,

Doused in sunlight,

Intoxicating me slowly,

But if that’s my undoing,

I’ll be quite alright,

 

Your tone as delicate as footsteps in the snow,

Your gaze as strong as my will to cling,

To the sunset behind your eyelids,

Your gentle nature an addictive drug,

To a battered soul like mine,

Of all these central things,

That reminds me of you,

The most significant reminder, hands down,

Are the moments I spent with you. 

Let Me Espresso My Thoughts

 (Response poem to Billy Collins Morning pp. 31)

Alas, you love mornings more than the night,

 I understand, but I must implore you to try,

 The elixir of life under the umbrella of stars,

 With the ambiance of music and espresso healing a writer’s plight,

 

Why is it only morning you lack this despair?

 For me, daybreak lacks a certain flair,

 Until I roll out of bed and shuffle directly to the machine,

 To prep my freshly ground espresso beans,

 

No cold water will do,

 Nor brush to the mane will it tame,

 The single thing my body can execute,

 Is sway in cadence as the blessed espresso brews,

 

My vitamins give me no hope,

 Nor the books lining my shelves,

 Even with an open window or two,

 The hour has already soured my essence,

 And with espresso, do I allow it to soothe,

 My poor aching soul and the heart that awoke unfathomably bruised,

If we have anything in common, it’s the loath of the afternoon,
 In the depths of my own despair, I’ll settle for cold brew, too,

 Even with the cello music playing softly in my ear,
 And heavy clouds gently rolling in on the mist,

 I still love my nighttime espresso enjoyment,

 Mostly, when I haven’t collapsed out of my blessed bed,

 And ended up a crumpled, under-caffeinated mess on my knees instead.

Sorrow’s Camaraderie

With sweet sorrow, I stroll,
Between these mystifying footpaths,
Her countenance is gentle as she leads,
Me through a hall of emotive congruences,
We progress through twists and through turns,
Not with my hand in her hand,
Or, like friendly friends,
More forward, she escorts me,
Like friend and foe,
Into the ethereal unknown,
Oh, how I hate my long-suffering sorrow,
But such a gentle foe she is,
If I should wake up before tomorrow,
I pray she concedes me the rise of the morn,
At last, she can grant me a few rays,
When more time I spent in darkness’ gaze,
Sorrow, not too far behind,
Much like a brusque breeze,
She finds a way to burrow,
To unravel my frames moderate disease,
Trading instead an infliction,
Until I'm undone and positively futile,
Her skillful work is overall exhaustive,
And more potent than when she’d first instigated,
Her easy watch as I wallowed,
Instead of racing ahead and outrun,
In her footsteps do I shadow,
My distress completely undone,
As I stay astride this loved one,
The only one who is want to care,
The one who understands my hollow core,
Until my reserve strengthens again,
To whence I can lead on,
I’ll follow her into the dark,
Oh, sweet friend,
My gentle foe,
My one true love in my sweet sorrow. 

The Two-Way Mirror of Despair

 Through the thick and the thin, through far and wide,

Through the years and years, I’ve suffered and withdrew with,
The sorrow of depression, through and through,

You never made me feel inadequate,
For all the things I’ve been through,
Through the thick and the thin, though far and wide,

Through years of nightmares turned true,
You held me close and still, even with,
The sorrow of depression, through and through,

You kept me close to your heart,
And mellowed my innermost storms,
Through the thick and the thin, through far and wide,

Through this year of heartache and break,
We tried to muddle through, the muck that mental anguish grew from,
The sorrow of depression, through and through,

Waiting for an ounce of normality,
To see me through to you,
Through the thick and the thin, through far and wide,
And the sorrow of my depression, through and through,

Nocturnal Masquerade

  My fears in dark masks appear, 

 As visions, they sway a dance most obscure, 

 They flit through my psyche, 

 A galvanized mirror, 

 A bemused locale for these spirits, I trust, 

 This display of marionettes parades one after the other, 

 And in my mind's eye, 

 The portraits all blend into one another, 

 As the break of day begins to make way,

 In the blush of blithe rays,

 A laughable offense, I'm sure not intended, 

 In the darkness, or the hereafter, 

 They prompted quite a fright, 

 Of fevered dreams they undoubtedly were, 

 When left without a defense to my lucidity, 

 Oh, they caused me quite a stir, 

 They weaved a tale of worry and woe, 

 Displayed it in accounts with horror projected, 

 But as I woke the morn after, 

 Laying saturated in the adept shield of light, 

 As I view the terrors of the night before, 

 Through visions, like memories, like opening visual doors,

 They stopped being fearsome with no great malady, 

 If this is what haunts me in the obscure of night, 

 In confidence, they can visit as often as they like, 

 For if such austere fears try as they might, 

 I'll gladly turn in for yet another feverish night, 

 Where fears bedecked in masks once worn,

 By a more fearsome foe than they,

 Adorning the facades of decidedly milder peer, 

 I'll take it as a 'fearsome' tale, 

 And not fear the fall of slumber anymore.