812p 22 may 2022

i hate being alone so much.
i hate it hate it hateithateithateit
quiet and alone and lonely and cold even in this heat
cold.
even in this heat the cold strangles my blood
freezing it cold solid cold
i shiver in this heat.

i could have stayed at yours but no.
i am afraid.
the rain, the dark, the aloneness.

you held me in your arms you squeezed me closer
felt the heat bloom from my body setting it afire
holding me closer.
i tangled my fingers in yours
hoping to keep some of you for me
when i go.

i sit in your kitchen, smoking
vibrating in place i cant sit still inside
i don’t know how i appear, manic, most likely
i hate coming to you, needful, needy.
i don’t think i ever feel pity from you, i don’t think
(if i begin to think i won’t let go so lets just not)

i know i am not always like this i know that
but right now i am very much like this and it is hard to be.
much less be around.

i know i am exhausting.
i am so sorry.

I purposely posted this past the point of danger.

728p 8 september 2020

i do not want to be alive right now
i want to be not here right now
i do not want anything other than to not fucking exist right now
but i can’t write that and post it now because
everyone will freak the fuck out
so i cant post it
i cant reach out
i cant scream
i cant tell anyone
i just have to not do anything
not do anything
not do anything
just sit with this and struggle and scream inside my own head and not do anything nothing nothing nothing

nothing.
it is all i can do to sit and type
and the stench of that motherfuckers cigarillo is in my fucking apartment
and all i want to do is punch him in his fucking dumb face

nothing.
nothing i cannot do a thing
i will scream and scream and scream and not stop and i cannot stop i have to do nothing.

i know if i open my mouth i will scream and scream and not stop so i dont

nothing.

nothing.
my shoulders are tense and around my ears and tight
this empty this noise
this noise this noise this noise
.
there is no enjoy there is not any enjoy.

i need to smoke.
i need to smoke but it does not last
my plant is so thirsty she needs so much attention i cannot give her the attention the care she needs she is suffering.

i take great big gulps of air but it is not enough there is not enough air..

i am going to go smoke and maybe it will be enough
if i just smoke enough

nothing is enough
my brain is on fire and falling into a crevasse
there is no end to the fire no bottom in sight

it is a relatively quiet evening
even with the idiotic clapping of some fucking asshole for some fucking reason
even with the assault of garbage music that competes with blasting television noise
no yeti-footed neighbor upstairs
(took his black-and-tans and split)
stop with the fucking clapping for fuck’s sake already

i don’t want music
i don’t want noise
i want silence
nothing interfering

my eyes are dry, for now
core unclenched, shoulders still tight, but lower
i can think about packing a bowl now
try without becoming frustrated, fucking it up
easy to do in general, yes but nothing is easy and if that asshole doesn’t stop clapping soon

fuck i am exhausted.

i broke my own heart, leaving you.

620p 18th july 2020

do you ever think of me unbidden?
do i ever cross your mind? i wonder.
does my voice pollute your day as yours does mine?

does my face interrupt your thoughts?

i know better than to ask
i don’t want to know, i think.

i finally felt safe, home.

i broke my own heart, leaving you.

i can’t stand to talk to you anymore
the pity in your voice is palpable
i have no idea if it’s real or not
only that it feels real.
desperate for comfort.

so when I think for a second that i want to hear your voice
when i am craving the security I once felt
i do better to remember
that it doesn’t belong to me.

what you (don’t) see. 9th july 2020

Mojo and Momma

This girl.
You see this girl, smiling, happy.
This sweet kitty, snuggling this smiling girl.

What you don’t see.
The remade bed, the just-changed sheets
that have needed changing for too long.
The remade bed that until five minutes prior,
I was in, under the covers,
chest heaving,
desperate to recall the feeling of the embrace
of a good man, a sweet man.
The soft, welcome heaviness of the weighted blanket on my shoulder,
my hip.
so close to feeling the way his arm did,
draped across my shoulder, holding my hand, fingers intertwined.
his warmth behind me,
curving into my back.

what you don’t see.
tears staining my face
the roughness of Mojo’s tongue on my cheeks,
the delicate inquisitiveness of his nose at the corners of my eyes.
knowing that the memory of the feeling would have to last
until next time.

I am happy that I can remember,
even though the stopgap measures,
the heavy blanket,
even though trying to not be lonely only makes me lonelier.

634p 3rd july 2020

I want things.

There, I said it. I want things.

I am so tired of wanting and wanting and wanting.
I am so tired holding my own hands and hugging my ownself.
I am so tired of being exhausted at the thought of cooking a meal for one person.
I am so tired of all of the things that I am supposed to be doing filling my head to the exclusion of all else almost all the time.
I am so tired of the noise.
I am so tired of being woken up in the middle of the night by my own sadness.
I am so tired of being so tired.

I want things.
I want to not be so tired.
I want to not worry about all of the things all of the time.
I want to see a request for penpals in a nursing home in North Carolina and not burst into tears at the thought that that will be me someday,
alone in a nursing home,
begging for a penpal.
That everything about me will be written on a piece of poster board,
begging for a pen pal.
“Lysa loves cats,
existential conversation,
the color purple,
and monster trucks.
Won’t you please write to her?
Please?”
the hopeful smile on my face
plastered there for so long
(no one wants to be friends with a mean old lady so i smile)
no matter how hard it is
no matter how alone i am, have been.

I am so tired.
I am tired of knowing that as much as everything is already crashing down around me
that it will only get worse for the ignoring of it,
the putting off of everything possible
and many things that are not

i am so tired of faking pleasantry and ease
i am exhausted dodging “how are YOU???”
sidestepping directly into “what can i do for you today?”
avoiding, bobbing, weaving
slipping out from under the hammer of
HOW ARE YOU.
my extended silence and thrumming tears not enough of a delicacy for some
HOW
ARE
YOU
.
i’ve said this before,
my pain must be delicious.
michelin quality.
galaxy class.

pandemic diaries: 1145p 10 april 2010

this being apart shit.

this fucking shit is tearing my body apart
raking my flesh
scissoring my veins
shredding my bones…

it is rendering me jellied,
puddled.

my body knows this feeling
this d e p r e s s i o n.
it isn’t the right time for it not like this.
all of this laying around and doing nothing
AND BEING TOLD ITS OKAY.
this is what’s different.
i’m not tired i am active. alert. pointy.
with no release.
no way to let go.
no way to succumb.

So I smoke.

and i eat.

and i smoke.

and I have a rich fantasy life and when I do venture out it is with
dire regard
like a fox I am so
aware.
I crave human interaction I crave
I crave.
i need
voice. a face.
a touch .

this is tearing me apart.

9:16a, 14 november, 2019.

okay so you know when i wrote to you and said,

“now that I’m on the other side of your being away,
I mean, you’ve been gone longer than what’s left,
it’s feeling easier.
I’m excited for your return, but not in a desperate way any more.
It doesn’t feel so empty.
Or at least, not right now. Hope is a good thing💜💜”

remember?
and then the next day
and the day after, now

nothing.

and now it feels desperate again.

I have none of the answers, I’m just guessing at them
i don’t even know what the questions are anymore.

It is the silence that I cannot bear.

8:51a, 6 september, 2019

there are so many things i’ve wanted to tell you
so much i’ve discovered
about the world
about myself
music, tv, life, art.
humans. people.
people i think you would like, approve of
people i want to tell you about, share
humans i have told about you
the good ones, they respond with warmth
with love. tenderness and care.
anyone else is dismissed, flicked away
deleted.
no time for unadulterated bullshit.

today is the day before the day that
it began for the last time.
the day before the day that was your last in this house
on this couch.
it is as clear as it was seven hundred thirty days ago.

“…Now I miss you more than I can take
And I will surely break
And every morning that I wake
god, it’s the same
There’s nothing more to it
I just get through it

It always takes me by surprise
how dark it gets this time of year
and how apparent it all becomes
that you’re not close, not even near

no matter how many times I tell myself
I have to be sincere
I have a hard time standing up
and facing those fears…”

To A Poet, First Aid Kit