Panic

Hey, look, a new form of panic attack.

But the old ones were so enjoyable!?

What to expect when the world starts to offer you love?

That’s what it feels like. Like the world is prodding with a little kindness and you need to sneak off to a bathroom so as to not disturb your current life with

...being happy?

What do you do when you feel your feet slipping

Like you’re standing too close to the edge of a great cliff but

your legs are jello, and your brain is spinning as though you’re already falling.

Vertigo? Jimmy Stewart? Rear Window without Grace Kelly. 

Imposter syndrome, thanks Gaiman

thanks for bringing that ole’ chestnut back into view.

(I still love you) 

What do you do when half of you wants to thrive. To become who you want to be, but the other half. tells you to stay put and lean into the frustration  because that’s what you deserve... 

I’m writing again. Something about home. Something about starting to feel fresh again. 

But maybe that’s fresh like the cigarettes used to be. Exciting. Then smoked. Then crushed. 

Light Through Clouds. Home.

Home is ethereal
a place that doesn't seem right, even when you're supposedly there
but you're desperate to return to when you find yourself far away.
Sometimes it's a person,
a thing,
hell- sometimes it's a dog
or a type of food.

Is it supposed to remind you of childhood?
Friends... friendship?
Love? Family?

Are you supposed to wrap yourself up in the comfort of the blanket of 'home'?

Or jump through the closest window, hoping for a not-too wrenching fall
when you hit the ground
of a reality that leaves in an open desert of the wide world,
a naked figure in a monsoon storm.

The physical place, the house that I remember-


...what little I'm allowed to remember... 


that place doesn't remind me of anything I care to carry forward.

Or maybe the reality of the thing, home, is that it's never there, it's constantly re-imagined
a hallucination
a dream
something to strive for when you're low.

I'm home, for now... and I don't know how,
or why I was allowed back in
but it feels
warm? fresh? like I've been brought back in time but with the knowledge of my older self...
and I want to DO WORK

I want to tackle the world again.

Another Hand Through a Wall.

What are you supposed to do in moments of anguish
but to emote
to say SOMETHING brilliant
anything.

The thing is,
that's not how it works.

My heart is in the middle of my throat.
My heart.
Though I'm uncertain of it for the first time in years.
Is it there? Is it as unhealthy as I fear?
I've smoked the first cigarette in a long time.

...and it all makes me feel old.

How do you progress?
How do you become the best person that you can be?
another person lives inside?

No, not that I've seen in a long time.

I've always wanted to die first.
Not some morose, momentary lapse;
but a decision. After all,
who am I compared to them?
Let me be that selfish.
It's my skin.
My bone.

...but I care about the outcome.

Who am I compared to the same self that was there, living free,
living in my home and acting like the mother-fucker that I wanted to be?
I was something else, a force, a breath in the wild,
I was the wild, at least in the right crowd.

Now I'm screaming over middle-aged things.
I'm crying over things I'm not sad about.
I'm giving in not to feel uncomfortable.
I'm sharing the things that make up my soul but not getting the return.

Who am I?
Who am I after all of these years, with less hair and jealousy in my heart?
Why do I ache at night?
Why do I feel so much more than I want?
Why am I not in control of love and loss and money and passion and

Life.

We all secretly don't want to care-
but
some of us feel it all for the rest of us
whether we like it or not.

What a curse it is to care.

Untitled

Happiness is not a warm gun
though in a moment one can sympathize.

Happiness is shared experience
moving though the world seeing it through new eyes
finding joy, in day to day
that has been day to day
for year and years.

I never saw that sign before
until I saw it through your smile
I never heard that song before
until I heard it through your heartbeat.

Speed can be a great assurance or proof
when a heart is to be trusted ahead of a head
though hidden pain is often swept under a puppy love rug.

Paranoia. Blah.

Let love combat doubt
let doubt fade into uncontrollable smiles and
a heart fluttering
like the tatters of the flag of a once sunken ship
in a soft early morning breeze
in a paradise bay.

let yourself feel love.

Rounding the Bases

Rain and thunder outside of a small room

a brief tour of San Francisco comes to mind

you didn't know me then
though,

I was just as bad at making decisions.

I'm better now...

still not perfect.

My book pile is swelling again, 

driven by flight of fancy or the insistence of new friends

though-

mostly-

just good titles

and flashy covers.

A trip to Tennessee with

someone new

rainy roads

familiar corners

and still:

My hands ache 

and bleed-

one new hobby 

a tentpole in my chest;

punches driven by

a heart full of 

Small

I cant seem to decide if I'm wandering enough 

or too much.

If dinner out with friends will lead to seeing pain pull up just outside of the restaurant.

It would be hell on earth to see that smile, knowing that I would be the one to take it away.

I haven't slept for more than a few hours in more than four days,

anemic, exhausted.

I don't want to wander.

I want to go the airport and sit,

let the world wader by.

You don't see people you know in airports.

I'm getting smaller too, watches and shirts hanging on bone joints,

I don't see the point in eating when I can just cook. 

From all fast food, to some bread

and some water

tomorrow.

Letters Not Sent

I'm sorry for letting you down,

I know you can really be depressed at times
I'm really trying to understand.

You thought that there was something better out there
I get that, really
I've seen some of the sights and had a taste of
certain lives too.

But it never lasts does it?

I get that certain looks can make you forget that you have a home sometimes
that when people look at you, and you don't look back because you're afraid, or you know that it was wrong to look back

but

the fact that it was wrong made it exciting.

I'm going to let you in on something I've learned-
Rob told me this once, you know Rob, from the record shop?

He said that all those times you look back, well, those are just fantasies because
all you imagine is the good stuff, you never imagine the fights and the tears and the stress over bills and where to live-

but in the end, the fights and the stress,
that's still a team sport
and you need that person around or you're going to fall apart

quickly.

Take a second and think back to all the bad...
Now think about all the good.

One outweighs the other, right?

"Well, that's a matter of perspective" -I can hear you saying that.

I was there most of the time, there with you when you were fighting with her,
and she was right a ton of the time, you were wrong sometimes too.

...but you loved each other. The fights would always subside.

Those fantasies would only last a few days too, a couple of weeks maybe if you didn't try and shake it immediately.

You should've had the fantasies about her.
You should've danced more.
Flowers don't hurt.

Now, I'm really writing you this letter because I got yours, and I know you're hurting, that after five years of back and forth and trying and fighting, but loving too- that after all that time it only took her a few weeks to find someone to make her forget about you.

Yup, I get that, it really stings, especially when you found the clarity you talked about on the phone, in the middle of the night. You said your brain snapped in two when you saw them together; but it's too late.

It's too late.

Live now. Sleep, laugh, keep crying (maybe cry just a little less, it's getting excessive.) Maybe you'll have another chance someday, but until then you're old news. Let her go.

Harsh?

Yeah.

Reality.

Families split and never get back together.

You screwed up.

But

you can love yourself again. Forgive yourself.

I love you.