Aqueous

I see myself as a body of water.

Some days, it feels like  

The steady flow of possibility 

is coursing through my frame.

Like I am a conduit for creation.

Easy, steady, I make what I see. 

Some days, the water is too calm

It stagnates

Needs to be shaken up. 

If I walk in circles in my mind, 

Perhaps I can make a whirlpool 

to unstick the notion that I am worthy. 

Some days, it is like a tempest inside

And I can do is stay along for the ride

Heart racing, heavy breath 

Emotions tumultuous, they toss and turn

So quickly, I can barely make sense of them.

There is a sudden calm.

The storm has passed.

The words to articulate 

what has just transpired 

come slowly during recovery 

when they are ready.

Like bubbles reaching for the surface

A reminder that there is still life below

I collect them, put them in a neat package

And share, baring my soul for all to see

I catch my breath and dive back in. 

Once again, I am back to being 

at the mercy of the muse

Creating with my hands 

something that is both mine

And not of this world. 

I am on her time, I must be ready.

There are worse ways to be. 

Ode to my Insomnia

Bathed in the orange glow of street lights streaming through the slats on the window

I sit

My insomnia greets me like an old friend
Sits beside me as though my illness is winning and she’s paying her respects

Night after night

I wish she would hold me and cradle me to sleep
To bring some reassurance and comfort
to the racing thoughts and defiant delusions
littering the battlefield that is my body

Instead, she burrows deep inside of me
Finds the spaces between where I am fine and
Where I feel too much and not enough
Where I am strangled by my own complacency
Where I am a lost cause and unloved
And she lingers there
Her fingers shaking loose the parts of me that I would soon forget.

She remembers.

Says that I am the keeper of my own stories
That forgetting is akin to denial
That being honest with myself is all part of owning my own heart

And I listen to her.

We are wide awake ruminating on the mistakes made long ago that are likely forgotten by everyone else.
Reliving horrors that should remain unspoken
Thinking of those that are gone and those that will eventually leave me.

We play the what if game and mourn for the life I had hoped to lead
Before pain was the currency for any worthwhile endeavor.

I sit.

I say I will be better tomorrow
Write the day off as though it is an anomaly
As if the morning light beaming through that window
Will exorcise the demons that lay deep

It never does

Me and my demons don’t play well with others
Isolation is the safest bet
If only things were different
If only I could trust more
If only my hands were useful for more than just dancing across a screen

I had dreams
Goals to aspire to
I had hopes for myself along with others
But instead of moving toward something more

I sit

The macabre and the maudlin becoming mundane
as they dance through my mind
Invoking dark humor and darker honesty
Everything will eventually end

I sit

Bathed in the glow of that artificial light
And I feel as though that light
Might be all that’s left of my own.

May morning come soon to change my mind.