truthfully, there is enough to make an angel weep- the endless steppe of daily obligations and weekly upkeep and monthly and annual and. it never stops- the teeth brushing, the toilet paper buying, and grocery shopping and broken hearts and skinny shampoo bottles balanced on … Continue reading relentless
I cannot be delicate.
Today, I went in for a facial
my face bared to the yellow light
it wasn’t in a good state (it was a wreck)
I am spreading the infection of my skin
I carry the dirt on the q-tips, on the make-up brushes
I am told to wash the brushes in warm water with detergent, weekly
(I am so tired.) (more…)
1: Born into a metropolis of enamel (pottery) and unfamiliar stains on the silverware and woolen sweaters that irritate the shoulder of my skin and….. the hauntings of smells/ lexicon /chocolate milk /aftershave and a haunting no one has to know.
Not today. Even though morning is quiet and all is still except an ache and everything wants bed and warmth sleep snuffled skin and hot chocolate smells and also coffee perhaps a piece of toast- everything and nothing. I think, I have never had toast … Continue reading the truest thing I’ve written
between my ribs and the ocean,
lies a space of
bone and soul, of
something crucial, fatal and vital,
something I never named, never saw, never lived without.
I used to define it- slap stick yellow label and Sharpie in purple-
“a space of solid hurt”
perpetual state of being, perpetual weight of being alive-
all the beauty and glory, and all the smells I could never really bare, but always bore
(sweat and mint and sticky vanilla and my mother’s room)
but growing up, brought with it,
and sometimes, somehow, the space
it learned to breathe.
learned to rest.
learned to close its eyes and feel the breeze.
I never claimed to be strong,
and my core anything but voids like orange peels and
yet, my space has learned to breathe,
inhale and exhale, contract and expand,
and in my space,
I’ve learned to find the freedom-
the unbearable freedom of our being.
There is a yawn- breath of space between you and dysfunction,
A constant tug of the current, a constant tug to the depths.
The goal is to keep on pushing.
They say, it’s like treading underwater
They say, it’s like going outside summer sunlight golden splashed-
But there is a darkness in your eyes that weighs heavy on your shoulders, casts the day in ash.
They say, depression is a chemical imbalance and then nothing is balance, and you a constant tittering, between the abyss and the sky, between alive and asleep, between function and dysfunction and hanging in there and not ok. (more…)
my depression does its seasonal shopping every third day of the month slightly stingy, slightly anxious- looking for the sales rack I humor it, slip dollar bills in its back jean pocket when no one’s looking in winter, the clothes are dark, dark and snug … Continue reading naked