anxiety

a will, a way

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I WILL myself…some day…to travel like I used to, relying on no one but myself! Ok, well, at least to places like Chicago, a place I know so well.

(Three months of rehabilitation just off Lake Shore Drive at fourteen years old, The Museum of Science and Industry’s been a staple since a kid, and every five months I have an appointment that’s right by School of the Art Institute of Chicago (where my daughter goes)…but…DAMN IT! I’ve traveled to Chicago alone my whole adult life!

How many times did I drive all by myself from the Arizona desert to the Midwest cornfields, from a Colorado Valley to an Arizona Mountain, from a San Diego beach to family in Texas?

How far did I go? My van might know.

I need freedom from silent expectations, bites of resentment, and voiceless screams. I want to escape being ignored as an acceptable way of living.

Hours pass by so slow as I wait for…my chance. The next time a friend says let’s talk, I won’t get scared and avoid the call!

A dragonfly’s wings fan subtle heat on my shoulder, and as if through a microphone-hand my tiny friend yells:

“ANSWER! You silly wench! No more bricks in the wall! You’re no longer a teenager! You’re an ADULT.”

Some day I’ll get away…for now, I guess, I’ll just keep dreaming, and vicariously I’ll trigger myself happy watching from my home.

In a Battle

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In a battle with my SELF. There’s no blue, no gray: BLACK and white only. Both just as necessary,  both needing control;

Trying to figure shit out, both pissing me off! Darkness absorbing light, white fights a push back. Both churning growth.

In a battle with my SELF. I will fight to be red, different than in my head, understanding my misunderstood.

What I hide

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I want to feel the joy of nose nuzzles and clandestine kisses, I want love that swells and sways.

I stay silent, hiding my true theme: I love more than I should say. I want someone who’s not mine.

I think it best if I go away until something changes, otherwise, I’ll be ranting and raving.

(-I need to break out of my cell-)

Wish I knew how 🤔

I wish desire, I wish passion mattered. Any poem, any card, any piece of writing I’ve shared meant less than nothing, in fact, the attempts at romance were annoying.

Surprised? Nearly 20 years. So what?

I’m done.

He doesn’t even realize I’m already gone.

Waiting to bloom, my flower needs the sun’s light, but first, I endure the rain through night.

Oh my CRASH!

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SCREEEEECH! SLAM! BAM…Bam! I knew it was coming, yet I didn’t expect an actual CRASH. I had finally willed myself to go, to be, to do, listening to pick-me-up songs, windows low to give my thoughts a blow…

But, NO! NO! NO! My curse will always find me and make good go from bad to oh so much worse!

A panic attack, a cop, and at home a toke, off to bed to escape my traumatized mind, PTSD triggered my brain is not kind.

I slept with no dreams, which was what I needed. The new day begun, I find myself cleaning with purpose again. I think to myself, “Obviously, this is where I belong.”

As I stuff my birthday bouquet of flowers into the garbage can, dead petals with a whimsical spin land on the tepid summer floor I had just swept.

I stare comatose at my atrophied feet, my breathing barely noticeable. The huuummm of the fidget, as it’s going to die, sounds like a rocket taking off, getting louder and louder and louder until I finally looked up…

From the far back of my blackhole of a brain muscle, where the sun and the moon and the stars full shine, I hear whispers tickling my neck at the spine:

“To thyself be kind, appreciate the complexity of your mind!”

Grounded

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GROUNDED! I am. Hope is like magic to me. In a hopeful magic-mirror, I see a side of me that’s happy, electrified with new prospects of fun, giddy to grind with lust on my mind.      

BUT      Magic isn’t real. It’s a con.

When my brain gets too excited, it girgles naughty thoughts, and it tricks me into creating a story I want to hear, a fairy tale.     

About my days, I go slow, eyes looking up, thinking in pictures of…  

what if I found a connection

with a passionate friend, who tickles my fancy, OH yes, a muse for my fantasies…     

Every look, every touch elevates your love…that’s how I wish you’d feel about me, addicted like I’m your very favorite thing.  

Melancholy madness, knowing my truth. No magic can make me hope something will change. I’m doomed to accept my lustless fate, so I guess I’ll just go back to sleep.         

YET         

(I tell you true, this is happening right now!!!)

A yellow finch just now called my attention from my red pen bleeding onto my notebook paper.

Wheels turning I had to ponder, What is this bird saying?

He just keeps singing louder and louder, then I spot him high on a flexible limb, a cloud white floating as his backdrop:

“STOP! LOOK UP!”

He sang so lovely, not at all like the other birds, a voice and rhythm all his own.

Then, a sparrow chimes, “Just live…and be…love life…reality!”

As if stung by the sun, my eyes close, the pain in my neck feels like a knife in the muscle just turned, so a frown pulling my chin down, I wheel back into the cold darkness of the garage and close the door with a wrist-flip, twisting the deadbolt locked.

Enveloped by darkness, I see the remnants of that circle of light and I blink a quick-

CLICK!

Like a photograph, within my mind, I snap-shot this moment in real time where the moon eclipses the sun making me feel warm, less alone.

(I hope you never doubt your worth! I long to show you how much I need you in my life, or I swear I wouldn’t have been able to hang in this long:)

Just a Poke

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Just a poke! Poke a head Just once…maybe twice.

Never before has it come with such powerful stimulation, turning my virtue into vice.

I inhale my Gorilla Fuck (strongest strain for the brain) take it all in…

A giddy girl again, preying on a man, I make him do whatever I want him to. And willing, he’d never want to leave, happy servicing me for an eternity.

In return, I’d fulfill his every need, and make his wildest dreams come true. I gorge on the ‘how’ as I sleep.

Upon waking, my reality redressed, I ponder why I find this so fucking funny a bubble POPS in my tummy!?!?

Face It

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Cracked glass clouded by steam,

the reflection skewed reality,

my face distorted, monstrous!

That’s why I cover mirrors.

Sometimes, someone sees me,

wheels making me too obvious,

and I ponder what they think…

“You’re so strong!” One exclaimed.

Muscles atrophied to skin ‘n’ bone

long ago, weakness whittled

from could to should to won’t

with my soul my gut’s blackhole

sucking up good, bad ‘n’ all…

It’s not the wrinkles or dark spots

aging looks back and takes stock:

Who were you? Who’ve you become?

Does your soul just need a hug?

LEARN TO GIVE YOURSELF LOVE ❤️