What I Found

 I found the candy in the mixer. It made sense why it had taken six months for me to find it, how was the Easter bunny supposed to know we never baked anymore?

I found the car where we had left it. Of course it had been forgotten, two blocks from home and how often did we really drive?

I found the keys in the purse. This where I always put them, but with the pockets and the junk who would know unless they really dug?

I found the cell phone on the eighth ring. Six missed calls are all it had taken that time, who carries their phone around if it isn’t even smart?

They found her on the floor of the bathroom. Shaken and forgetful all day, how could she be herself when she had seizures waiting on the horizon?

They found her fallen on the ground. Stairs and ledges, who would be able to keep themselves up if their limbs shook and the house was a maze of snares?

They found her asleep in her chair. Watching football and her daughter prattling on, why not fall asleep when your brain can no longer hold images or words?

They found her. Not her anymore, a body is not a person and the woman lying in bed is no longer a mother, why shouldn’t she seek peace over pain?

She found me. Crying in the basement, tornado clouds over head, children scared of storms are quite common, right?

She found me. Screaming down the stairs, lunging for the “rat bastard” of a dog who wondered “can’t I have more attention than the tv?”

She found me. At a loss for words, looking into her eyes trying to hold up a conversation that was always weighted on the other side, what do I say now?

She found me. Scared, alone, helpless, grateful, loved, broken, joyous, and hopeful; a mother will never forget her child, how could I forget you?

I found her. The wind brushes my cheek, dogs kiss my face, friends release my smile, love fills my heart and I find her.

No question, I know that is you.

No Filter

 Usually when I put something on here I try to make it poetry or well thought out, but I don't have a diary and I need to word vomit.

I am so sick of emotions. I am tired and exhausted of feeling anxious and broken. I am sick of breaking down only to tell a joke three hours later. I am done pasting on a smile and pushing down my anger. I want to tell people no. I want to tell them leave me alone. I want to tell them they aren't what I want or need, but you can't do that. 

I want to lock myself away and stop being a person. I want to transform into a squirrel and spend my day climbing trees. I want to be a frog and hibernate under the snow. I want to be a cat and spend all day in the sun. I want to stop being.

Not forever. Just an hour or two days. I need to stop being for everyone else. I need to stop being for me. I need to stop being. I can't handle the constant twists and turns, the waves that are being human. Dear Stevie, I did not ask to climb this mountain I did not ask for the changing seasons of my life. I want to be Arizona, Summer all the time. Winter did not need to hit this hard with this many fluctuations. 

I am not okay and I don't want to be that way anymore. I want to be fine. I want to say I'm good and mean it. Why do I need to adjust daily to emotions, why can't I be stagnant and not broken everyday. I build this puzzle daily, why do the pieces keep ending up on the floor?

My Refrain

 

Where do I take the problems?

Who will predict my dangers?

When can I lay my fears down?

Who will take away my daggers?

Where do I call home?

 

I’m not okay without you,

Self-sufficient as I am.

I am not okay without you.

I don’t know who I am.

The Ways We Prepared

 

As I child, I prepared.

I asked questions:

 “When you die, will I share your stuff with anyone?”

It is all yours.

As a teen, I adjusted.

Two, three, nights alone:

“I’ll call you when I get there.”

Watch for deer on the road.

As an adult, I jumped.

Ready to be off on my own.

“Text shorter, leave paragraphs for the phone.”

I’ll send 100 messages and leave a voicemail at the tone.

By myself, I cried.

I can’t handle all you gave me.

I’m not ready to be alone.

Now with nowhere to turn to,

No reason for my phone.

1/5/21

 

If hope is a thing with wings, then depression carries stones.

You think you can outrun, dodge, throw the aim and escape,

But the stones are tethered to ankles,

Each movement, each attempt, hits yourself,

The aim is always true.

 

If hope is a thing with wings, anger has a net.

Weighing down any future or dream,

You find yourself looking into a broken world,

Only parts of a whole, and every part is lined with darkness,

An obstructed view.

 

If hope is a thing with wings, then I am a girl with a broken heart.

Stuck here in my cage, blood boiling, eyes crusted with salt.

I hurt but have no wounds, I am trapped while I hold the key.

There is no escaping who I am inside.

No matter how far I run, or fight, or hide.

I have no wings; I have no freedom.

I have no hope.