Hunger

I am hungry all the time.

I hunger for food

I hunger for sleep

I hunger for comfort

- and something that is deep. 

In the end, it is myself that I hunger for. 

Collarbones

As a child, I pulled on my collarbone, waiting for it to break in half. The almost bone that was cartilage sometimes gave way, and I kept pulling and pulling. There is a feeling in me that stirs. The feeling of being human and being amazed that I occupy this body. The idea of me is scary. I am inside there- somewhere deep inside this body, I am here. But where? I don’t feel it in my brain, but somewhere deep inside my chest. The place where tears start, where joy overflows, and where sadness seeps. There’s a fine line that I balance on. On one side is numbness- trying to suppress the idea of me and simply go through the motions of the day. To respond to stimuli as someone like me would. The other is one is much more scary- to have the courage to really think about my response and be me- moody, frustrated, and often appalled at the world. I like being the idea of me. The way I picture myself to be- strong, smiling, social. Perhaps one day I will blend the two and become half myself and half myself. 

Love Shmove

Displays of affection sicken me. 

I don’t want to see love, hear love, or smell it. 

I’m not a cynic- just someone who wants to stay neutral. 

Should I consider androgyny? 

No, I’m not that far off the map. 

There’s a child in me that is sickened-

grossed out about the idea of hugging and touching-

my inner child wants warm summer days and hours at the pool

my inner child wants sweet tea and falling asleep in the hammock. 

my twenty two year old self want to reminisce

my twenty two year old self knows that childhood is over,

and that in my twenty second year on this earth, 

what I like most of all, 

is laying on the hammock, sipping sweet tea-

and reminiscing, reminiscing about the wonderful days that defined my summers.

Untitled

My brother was always troubled.

I use this word, but more accurately- he’s a double. 

There are the good day, the bad days, and sometime no days at all.

He scares me. That’s why there’s a wall.

A separation between us, so that he wouldn’t be bothered-

so that I wouldn’t bug him or make him feel smothered.

We sometimes sit back to back, with the wall between us.

I listen to his crying, to his pleading, and finally, Oh! God! to his screaming!

He screams with the sound of an animal in its last breath-

hopeless, alone, and waiting, waiting for death.

I’ve been plotting.

Scheming.

Dreaming.

All to make make my brother stop screaming.

I will need to do it fast, the swifter the better- 

sit at his desk and write the final letter.

He’s smiling, for the first time, in a long time.

So I take my last final breath and look to my partner in crime, 

as he closes his eyes, and I close mine.

We join hands and lie on the floor-

finally, without the wall.

a Sunday

My mother once told me-

that my perception of time will change.

I looked at her without care and said- you’re strange.

She said days will be gone in a blink of an eye,

and your life, well- it will quickly pass by.

My mother was right. 

Life is a treadmill- whether you’re on it or not

Time has trapped you- give it up, you’re caught!

There are days when I run smoothly on my track. 

Other days, I stand by and struggle through a panic attack.

I want my years to slow down,

to take a breather and relax-

to give me time to fill in the cracks.

I remember as a kid, we used to play the magic powers game.

The one where you could choose a special power-

and so, you may ask- which one did I claim?

Mine was always freezing time.

I wouldn’t get greedy and say that I could do it forever.

There are limits to my power- if I was to take on such an endeavor.

I could only freeze time for three hours a day. 

Imagine if I broke this rule, and unfroze time to find everyone gray?

So-

Dear Universe, if you can grant me one power,

I wish to be in control of time.

I promise to not commit any crime,

but use it to give myself some rest

and take some of the pressure off my chest.

Monday, April 9, 2012

What is it that I’m doing- I ask myself.

I wish I could put myself on a shelf-

without an expiration date and without an agenda. 

Maybe I will even change my name to Brenda.

That’s a very unassuming name. 

I would blend in with the crowd

-perhaps observe the world from a cloud?

As I sit here and think about this option,

I know that it cannot be.

You see, I like to be seen and heard,

In fact, my worst nightmare is to be a flightless bird- 

Stuck somewhere without a purpose, trapped, and decomposing.

As much as I would like to run away, I know that it’s better to stay.

To stare into the eyes of the unknown and realize-

that the beast is the one within-

the one that makes you feel alive,

the one that makes you want to survive.

So what is it that I’m doing?

I’m trying to find what I’m looking for,

I think I’m getting close-

but for now, I will leave you with an adios.

9 Things 9th Graders Taught Me

1. I am no longer a teenager- surprise!

2. There is no shame in using the calculator

3. Lunch is the best class of the day

4. Ludacris is still cool

5. Never refer to Mean Girls- apparently the mean girls haven’t seen it

6. baseball/basketball/football caps are cool- like, really cool. I need to get on that.

7. they’re more up on the times than me- I still can’t figure out how to work “that’s so ratchet” into a conversation.

8. tomato juice is for losers

9. I can still beat anyone in a staring contest

On a Tuesday Afternoon

I quickly parked my car and started moving my feet as quickly as I could towards the sliding doors of the health center. It’s an art that I’ve developed- to move fast without making it seem that I’m in a hurry. After all, how uncool would I be if I was actually late to something. Definitely not cool. What’s also uncool is how a twenty-two year old wants to be “cool”. Back to my story. As I impatiently waited for the elevator to ding into place, a girl came up behind me, also to wait for the elevator that has seemed to have lost its way within a three floor span. Nonetheless, the long awaited metal box finally arrives and we do the dance that all elevator riders get sucked into. The elevator dance. Who gets in first? Will I win if I get in first, or will I look like a complete jackass because I want to win by going in first? I went in first. Once we get to the second floor, there are two options- you either go left or you go right. I always have a sense of pride when I turn right to head into the Counseling and Psychiatric office. It’s a way for me to say- yes, there is a reason why I act so strange, and I even have a code that identifies who I am. I am a 296.40.

There is a glass partition that separates the patients from the check in desk- maybe it’s a way to keep the workers safe just in case the crazies revolt, but what do I know. She smiles, checks me in, and I sit down. There’s a girl in front of me anxiously shaking her leg. Either it’s her first time or there is something really important that she needs to get off of her chest. I can’t help but look at her and be jealous. She seems like she actually has her shit together. I wonder if she has a code.

Jeffrey finally arrives, looking small, smiling, and quick as ever. He gives me a fist bump and we head into the dark confines of his office. He’s the positive type. The type of psychologist who enjoys breathing exercises and acknowledging feelings- the type that I want to be. I vent, he listens. I never realize that I start skipping around until he stops me and brings me back. I’m not sure if I like this. I don’t even know if I like seeing him. I think I do. He understands me and tells me the truth about my situation. “It will be with you for the rest of your life” or “you will struggle with this for the rest of your life” are not necessarily the things you want to hear on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, but hey- you gotta do what you gotta do.

Employment

I mailed 17 letters today.

That’s 17 envelopes and stamps.

That’s 68 sheets of one hundred percent cotton paper.

That’s one broken printer and one fixed printer later-

I become more and more doubtful that I will never become

a role model, a teacher, or a resident of Decatur.

It’s Cold Outside

I’ve recently realized how much I hate the cold.

I’ve tried to be bold and venture out,

but all that I’ve found is the biting doubt-

         of the love that I have for the breathless cold.

Bugs?

I don’t write much about what’s going on up here,

I am embarrassed and simply want to disappear.

I am tired, but my brain keeps going,

I want to shut my eyes, but did I mention that my mind is still going and going?

I’m seeing bugs out of the corner of my eyes.

I know they are not there, but maybe they are.

I doubt my heart, my mood, my brain-

Things are never the fucking same.

I want to be still- in a body of water somewhere-

Where I can float freely into the cold morning air…

My red nails are contrasting these white keys

Just like my desires are contrasting the disease.

So I will try to go to bed and rest my heavy head-

Maybe tomorrow it will be light as thread.