I’m sick of poems
I’m sick of feeling like I’m whining
I’m sick of fear
I’m sick of caring
I’m sick to death of me and all my bullshit
Something’s gotta change
So let’s change
February 20, 2025
Hidden in our thoughts
So much love must remain
Unseen and unheard
Silent confessions
These, too, fated to be lost
Alone in the dark
I curl myself tight
In my recovery bed
Finding comfort here
This tiny, soft space
Like a child’s old blanket
Where I seek healing
Breath so unrelenting
Until the last falls still
One day
It will all
…
Gazing across that river
Watching them on segments of their path
Visible from here
I have to wonder
Do I see them the same?
Call out my name
Shout it across the house to summon me
To the kitchen to cut vegetables with you
Sing it to me at sundown for soothing comfort
As if I myself am the sweet lullaby
…
Voice can’t be found as
Imaginary eyes see
All my unknown faults
(Anxiety is omniscient.)
The other night as I drifted off to sleep
With tiny quiet dread, my heart whispered to me
A wicked truth newly discovered:
Late night mind wanderings on how I’m a mistake, written late last night, forgotten, then found in the morning.
My existence
Is incorrect
Is a mistake
Is impossible to fix
Is a thorn in many sides
Is not supposed to be
Is not supposed to be
Is not
I’m not supposed to be here
I’m not supposed to be
I’m not supposed to
I’m not
February 12, 2025, apx. 11 p.m.
So many friends
Stunned to be somehow one of them
I find myself on guard
Having learned them to be ephemeral
Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly
Evaporating into the vapid hollow space
Where my love echoes, no longer heard
By any but me
February 12, 2025, 10:40 p.m.
Three footprints in snow
She listens intently for
Her teacher’s guidance