Thought vs Said

Rigamortis of the soul

I don't want anyone to know, how happy I am in my hole

If you could call it happy, more content

I rot

I feel like I've reached my extent

I have

I don't want to be alive but I definitely don't want to die I feel like I have no one by my side WHAT SIDE

I have never felt more alone.

Alone is something I am all the time, even when I talk WHAT VOICE

No one listens even when I speak it's hardly existent

On a property in a home surrounded by people I love.

You didn't get me anything for my birthday.

After I was sliced open very much so alive, I could feel them pull him from my insides

And for the first time in so long I felt so whole, like I was actually human again minus one finally a person not vessel.

But never celebrated. Just alone.

I am cold. I feel like I am stiffening. Rigamortis of my everything I don't want to feel anything

I feel too much and care too hard and no one matches the lot I try and offer

They just take from it.

A shattered plate that is over floweth, basically a glorifed serving bowl.

But I'm still lonely.

I speak for no response, I agree with myself in my talks, I am the only one that hears me

I want so much

But I am so so tired.

I am so tired.

I am so lonely.

I feel like so much nobody.

I feel like nothing

And everything all in one

But I so much. I want to do so much, I want so so very much to have more,

But everyone else is more important

I'm sure.

So much has happened that I have to process,

Waves of poetic words that hit me at the most inoperable times,

Hands in dish water, tight on the steering wheel, head underwater.

There's been a serious shift here recently,

It almost feels like control,

I'm trying to grasp these moments tighter, make them my own,

Take the extra moment to process that wave of energy and put it in to something more.

For the past few months my medium has been paint.

Heavy but thin acrylic filling in every tiny hole in a canvas,

There's some kind of peace that comes in forcing your work to becoming something right before your eyes,

You see that growth slowly over time,

Every little stroke a small piece to something more.

So many times I have typed out so many words, or scribbled them down just to toss them aside,

Like each of those little strokes weren't as important as the wet ones,

Who would've thought,

A trash can over flowing could be so much more.

A literal pit of inspiration right there in the corner.

After it's been so long

I ask myself over ten fold,

It's been my whole life, the most I've ever known,

You see this is a hobby a thing I miss so,

But to articulate the words,

I swear is a joke.

When you have so little time to your own mind.

Daughter, big sister, caretaker, driver, lover, supporter, comic, decision maker,

Rock.

That's been me for so long just struggling to get by and create and be me,

And thrive and live and laugh and seek,

And learn and be and to be,

But who is not to thrive in a space where your being is the purpose for so much, even when it doesn't feel so.

Have nothing to show for?

Laughter and love and faith and home.

Faith will carry you like blood in your veins,

There but not but definitely there even when you don't think so,

But then in struggle its the one thing thumping in your ears everytime

Like a force to be reckoned with,

Now I feel like an ocean,

Just a book filled with myths,

I used to have peace in my bones that had stable roots,

Now I have rage that causes forest fires so hot it melts the soles of shoes.

But some seeds have to be boiled in hell to bloom,

Most storms lurk in calm seas,

Myths turn to legends that give descendents their greatness.

I will be a tsunami again one day.

I will put out my own forest fires.

I will bloom after I bubble and boil down to nothing.

But first I must rise from the ashes,

Bring waves from the bottoms of my own oceans,

Toss the seas to my wash my own lands,

And bring peace back to my roots again.

“Nothing is pointless when you’re walking on egg shells. You take everything too seriously then. That’s why fighting to fix a problem never works.”

The words, the person, the thing, place, time in your life, the stranger.

What was the thing that immersed you in to life and made you think there was something more then you?

What made you acknowledge life?

What is the word that you hate the most and why? What is the word that gives you that same feeling but in the opposite way?

What taught you to feel things deeper and outside of you?

What was the thing that lit the fire under your ass when you didn't even know you were sitting? Or where you were sitting, let alone why.

Why why why why

We all have so many questions but that's besides the point how many you ask.

It's the questions you ask that leaves a trail, rarely the answers that follow

But its the combination of questions and responses, not answers, that leaves a mark.

I have no issues with upfront happiness,

But it's always easier to notice sunshine then the thunder or rain,

So then maybe I should say I have no issues taking my problems and going the other way,

Everyone loves the sun over a rainy day,

I have no issues with putting the happiness of others before my own,

So then it's like heat lightning in the middle of July,

It's too bright outside for anything to be anything but mine and that it how I wanted it to be,

Quite literally just me and sometimes misery,

It's like a 4 lane highway,

The only thing blocking you from the other way is a turn lane,

A suicide lane is a turn lane you sit in between two ways of traffic going opposite directions,

And you wait.

The rush of waiting leaves you there in the fate of fast traffic,

Shaking your car with you in it and you can't do anything but wait,

This is why they call it a suicide lane,

Sometimes waiting for someone to notice you trying to desperately to turn things around,

Or simply waiting for the right moment to do it,

It enough to bring sunshine after the rain.

Some days the hairs not so big, those days death really seems like it is,

But not even like the kind of feel like death days where you are dying to die,

Just maybe you feel like you're doing it a little faster then everyone else on the day to day mark,

Maybe you're just so tired of the maybe's and the littles and the um's and uh's and blah's,

Some days I feel like hard work and confidence.

On those days I am eloquent.

Those days my words turn to sentences that you wouldn't dare say.

Those days my hard work pays off and I am more then what I have to say.

I don't have to say anything at all.

I just need to learn how to carry death with my confidence,

And my big hair with my hard work,

And somehow make something as crazy as me,

As eloquently as can be.

I think, before, I've used that line,

But man what a time to be alive (again),

Living still feels like surviving,

But maybe this time surviving feels like existing,

And maybe for once in a while existing doesn't feel just like slowly dying,

And you know what thank God for my existing survival,

They say things come when you stop looking,

But maybe not looking is sleeping with one eye open because, yes, a watched pot does boil,

It might just take a while,

Because it would be the same time even if you weren't just paying attention,

And if for some crazy reason you have the means to understand this then you have the means to keep surviving,

Cause lord do we know how to survive,

But maybe it's about time surviving is some kind of strange thriving

I thought there for a while maybe writing my thoughts would feel better then typing them but then the only things I share them with are pages and air,

I thought maybe this year would be my year, for what I dont know but this wasn't it,

I thought I had the love of my life and instead I have 2 jobs and a couch to sleep on and a really bad dog that makes me feel bad for calling him bad because he's only good when he wants to be,

This morning I laid on the floor hoping if I got down maybe I'd find my way up,

Maybe if I was flat the curve of pain in my back would lay flat too,

Only then did I learn the more I twist and contort the more time I waste cause the pain doesn't waste away,

This pain I wear like a shirt is more like face paint ,

The more its there the less you see,

My words don't make sense I feel like a paradox,

I'm taking something again because the anxiety is like a bad habit I drink every morning with cream to wake me,

If I wake at all,

Some nights 12 hours of sleep still can't wake me,

Others 3 is much too much,

But somehow somewhere in this universe I'm supposed to be alive,

So here I sit at my shitty 9 to 5 just grateful I dont have to work my 5 to 9,

Funny how life works, it never makes sense,

Not until that sense youre looking for leaves you senseless and finally you catch it

I dont want to be alive sometimes but thank god im not dead

I did however struggle to really feel you and to see you how you wanted me too,

Or maybe you didn't want me to see or feel anything at all,

Trust me I know I'm your loss,

I see you under me when its not you,

But I don't want you there,

I feel your hair through my fingers at the back of someone else's neck,

Even if theirs feels better,

I want you when I pin them down and tell them no,

But I'm grateful to them when they say okay and you cloud my judgment,

I don't know what to think about people or things or days or nights or matters or rhymes,

But my God if I feel like this is pure clarity,

Succumbing to the not knowing what to do or how to feel or not knowing how to know at all,

For once, I can do it all.

They say that pills help the not feeling,

Whether they make you that way or make you the way you want to be,

Thank God for my glasses to see,

And the empty bottles that don't line my seats,

I finally might have made the right prescription for me

Hey, hello, hi or how ya doin,

I know its been the longest minute,

Maybe the longest lifetime,

I know things are currently hard to process,

I know that its impossible to focus and to breathe and to think and to be,

To be or not to be,

Funny how often I ask that in talking with me,

Am I to be or not to be?

Do i live on that last breath off terror? Do i find solace in melting in to the couch? Or do i party off the hard times and survive with the good?

Its getting cold again, I feel my bones trembling in fear or frost I'll never know,

My brains just as scattered as ever but of course,

I have a hunger that cant be satisfied but I feel like I'm dying of gluttony,

The seven sins have become my friends we get together every weekend,

Desire shes my bestie, we slide our hands in to back pockets and find a way to pray to something that doesnt believe in us,

Greed talks everyone out of their good decisions,

Him and Ego are siblings together we call them self destruction,

They pass out shots of anger and pride like self destruction,

And envy she lives on the back of the person thats so good but so bad,

She keeps you tied with a mask on that looks like love, youre her favorite snack,

Its so funny how the things that are so bad find a way to make you feel alive,

Funny how the devil is the life of the party,

I know theres only 7 sins but damn if you looked like an 8th,

Maybe not, maybe you just sprinkled yourself in a little of everything else so you wouldnt be so hard to take