Make Your Own Fucking Happiness

And I broke my own heart doing it.

I should have done better.

So as I sit alone, I want to cry in front any person who shows me any kindness because I don’t deserve it.

I broke my relationship with my older brother,

I should have done better.

I wrote him a letter today but I sent it from work,

and I was paranoid anyone would see that the address was to “Middlesex House of Corrections.”

The shame was evident,

And I stole a stamp to send it.

I don’t know how to stand anymore. I tried so hard to hide it from my mom, but here I am.

Crying on the phone outside the bar after the first two sips of many.

I pretend like it’s about anything,

But my brother’s kids getting sent to their sentence, like my brother is on his way to his.

But it’s always about that.

I erased the cocaine dealer from my phone.

And I’ve been staying with some friends,

You know the kind that pay their rent and own their homes.

I haven’t been quite sober since you went away last spring,

You know I needed a couple in me just to get my ring off,

I think about you. But I know that it’s not you. You’re not here anymore.

I can still enjoy time with my absolutely wonderful boyfriend, with my friends.

I can still get up and go to work each day and not burst into tears. I can go to my second job and not freak out.

I can go to the bar and get a drink and not talk about it, now.

But sometimes, when I work too much and I don't get enough sleep and I'm feeling overly sensitive, fear grips me.

Loss. Grief. The dulled impact.

I want to cry, but it seems like too much work. I want to scream, but it seems hysterical.

I just get angry at all the small things. The packed train, the construction detours, slow people walking on the sidewalk.

Eventually, I will forgive you for this. For committing this act, for putting us all through this.