salt and pepper crew cuts

i’ll spell it out so it’s unmistakable; a laundry list of all the things i was, i am, i will be:

impulsive - jumping the gun every chance i get, never knowing when to pull myself back long enough to sit and wait my turn. it’s always now now now or i’ll disintegrate at the wait wait wait

fickle - i’ve got the memory of a goldfish and the attention span of one too; one day im praying to gods i don't believe in for everything i’ve ever wanted, then throwing the prayers back up like yesterday’s lunch as i flush them down the toilet the next

selfish - i’ve set up camp in my brain with no sign of packing up since the day i bound myself to these woods, and all i ever hear is my own echos bounding back into my ear, screaming me me me

self-indulgent - i drink from every sweet nectar i can get my hands on, wringing them for every drop and never stopping til my belly cries in protest of its fullness

insatiable - my hunger is a sink hole, lapping everything up in its wake and never relenting when it asks for more more more

ungrateful - every kind glance is met with a roll of the eye, each gentle hand laid upon the back of my own stings like a whip cracking against skin and such lightness is heavy like anvils on my hands

brash - tongue lancing through every soft mercy from candied mouths; i slice and cut through all the velvet like a madwoman untamed

listless - the backs of my knees glued to the mattress, there is no place i’d rather be than nowhere at all

cruel - everyone i have ever loved has loved me back at arm’s length, if only to dodge the thrashing of my clenched fists and vicious throat, a megaphone of sick everythings

liar - everything is always as it seems, which seems to me like nothing i’ve ever done right, and all i’ve ever done right has been done with fingers crossed

if i don’t stop these hands they’ll go on writing forever, and people aren’t sticking around long enough to listen to yet another sordid soul bellyache about the ways their head hasn’t been screwed in right.

maybe it’s all true. maybe it’s all in my head. maybe both? and if so, where do i go?

the same old song rings in my ear. but again, that blanket of fog rolls in. almost too thick to wade through. almost threatening to choke me out with its nostalgia-tinged edges.  funny that i was miserable then, as i am in a perpetual state of casual melancholy now. 

i've written my sadness in, written it out, written it over and over, and it still doesn't fit quite right.  i suppose it isn't supposed to.  isn't supposed to slot seamlessly into my days like morning coffee or brushing your teeth.  it sticks out my right side like an angry thorn, all at once unassuming and impossible to ignore.

after all these years, it's still the constant blues that's made a home in my head, my body.  maybe even started a family of its own.  two kids and a picket fence if it's so inclined.  i carry it with me like a full time job—unpaid overtime and no weekends off. the pills dull its jagged edges into hazy static, all its sharpness smoothed over like splinters sanded down to oblivion. and i ask, "still?"

thought i'd shaken it off by now.  thought it had broken like a fever after all the sweating. but it's woven its way into my sinewy, it seems.

i feel it too. my shoulders sag and spine curls inward, shielding itself from the world like a turtle coming home. and boy does it feel like a homecoming on the worst days. maybe that's the worst part. for all the ways my sadness don't seem to fit, it has dug roots into me instead. like an ill-fitting sweater you refuse to take off because it keeps the cold out.  the blues stoke the gentle hum of fire beneath my skin despite itself.

i have never known my mind to exist without the sinking feeling that tags along with it. every moment lived has always been tinged with the stain of these blues. i never learned how to wash myself clean of it. not when the pigments look so much like my own blood.

i don't know if i'll ever make peace with it.  don't know if i'll ever welcome it with a kind smile and gentle hands when it has offered me nothing but a snarl and a bite.

maybe i'll bite back eventually.

for now, i’ve grown tired.  weariness seeping into me like a leaf soaking up sunlight.  only life doesn't grow much here. 

i've tried to spin this into something optimistic, but i'm coming up empty. like a dog losing sight of its bone in the darkened woods with no command to answer to. 

in as much as i cannot know my sadness, it doesn't seem to want to know me either. 

maybe i'll scare it off for good one day. take it by surprise. maybe it's tangled so deep within me there’s no use knowing where it ends and i begin.

there is not much left to know i think.

'til then i'll be a good neighbor. sing it songs that make it swell like i'm 12 again. make the bed, fluff the pillows, tend to the yard.

it sits at the center of my mind, my brain now lead against cotton. and yet i can’t stop. i think and think and think and all i’m good for is remembering. 

for all that my shit memory has done, it’s never served me right. never in the ways that matter anyway. i can’t seem to recall the name of the girl at the party who just shook my hand, but i still remember the crushing weight of all the footfalls of those who walked away.

my bones creak under the load of a never-ending worry, soul wrung dry and cold.  i never thought i’d make it past 19. 

i remember then and i remember now, those who saw greener pastures away from me.  most times it was for the best, but most times all i feel is the sting of the spaces they left behind. 

my burden is in the remembering.  always in my memory, never in their stories.  they write me out sooner than i can get my feet going.  sometimes i’d rather be the villain than the wind.  rather the punch than the breath knocked out of you. 

i miss the chaos sometimes. when all i had to think about was the pin drop of alcohol in my empty stomach, cheeks hollowed and shoulder blades piercing through my shirt. when all i needed was hot smoke and a frantic beat to dive into. at least then i didn’t recognize myself.  and when i don’t see, don’t know, then i can’t pick apart. scrutiny is no match for a garbled mind. 

i miss when i had nothing to ruin. nothing but the traitorous thump in my chest and a head full of snakes chasing their own tails. 

now i have so much. 

a love, a roof, abandon. 

my hands never learned what to do when they were full. 

i’m scared it will all tip over and fall away from me.

sometimes i wish it would.