The More I Read

The more I read, the less I believe I can ever be a writer.  What happened to my imagination?  My originality?  The arsenal of words I had to change the world?  Have they leaked out over time?  Did I lose them the way I lost my sanity so many times, piece by peace.  Did I drink them away, like my brain cells?  

Maybe, I’m having a mid-life crisis.  But, I’m pretty sure I already did.  In my thirties.  Which gives me a little over ten years left to live.  You would think that would spur me toward new horizons, or at least old comforts, knowing I have a decade or less to enjoy air flowing through my lungs.  The vibration of my beating heart.

But I’ve been fighting the quicksand of depression for over a year now.  Ever since I left my last full time job.  And I’ve tried to stop sinking so many times.  The longest reprieve has been four or five days.  Not enough to get my life back on track.

And now I’m here watching death claim a life.  Minute over hour over day over week.  But it’s not new, just harder to watch.  I’ve been watching death claim me my entire life, save the years I delighted in my young children so much I stopped watching, and enjoyed my life.

Maybe I can get back to that.  I just have to bash this depression over the head with joy, right?

(I know, I probably just need to see a therapist).

Bedside Vigil

I feel tendrils
Of depression
Reaching for me

Just I as sense

Freedom in the air

Mocking my stillness

How do I cleanse death

From this environment

Or should I be

Inviting it in

Welcoming it

So we can live

A new chapter

Remembering

Your face of suffering

Until

The face of suffering

Is no longer yours

And memories

Revert

To the joy

We lived

With you

Healthy

Happy

Vibrant

I feel like

Each day bedside

Erases one more smile

How many more

Will I lose?

The Day

Looms long

What is half

Is that noon?

Midnight?

Different 

Every day?

Like me?

I

Feel different 

Every day

Or is it

That every day

Feels different?

Could it be

That it’s both?

Am I the ocean

Ever changing

Am I the beach

Ever

Being changed

Am I the sky

Watching

All the transformation

And laughing

In my

Indifference 

Am I

Even

Different 

After Midnight

There is a space

I hold for you

While

Simultaneously

I pray

You don't fill it

The Death of Prose

 More specifically, The Prose.

All my years of writing, lost because I can't/won't pay $1.99/month to access it.

It's actually crazy, to not be able to access my own writing unless I pay for it.

I know, I know, I shouldn't have written it straight into the App.

But it felt so safe.

So natural.

Maybe, I can ask someone else who is paying, to screenshot all my writing, and send it back to me.

Yeah, maybe that.

But, either way.

It's the end of an era.

And, I will mourn.  

Birds in Philadelphia

The music pauses
Birdsong takes its place

On my walk home

(From the hospital)

There were two dead birds

On the same block

My thoughts flashed over them

As I was walking

Returns now

As I hear survivors

Vibrant and alive

Or panicked and alone

I can't tell

I haven't spoken

To quite enough birds

To know

I know

That a part of my heart

Is dying

Right now

In a hospital bed

Or surviving

But not vibrant

And

Tired of struggling

I try to bring laughter

To the room

Just once a visit

She looks at me

As though I've lost my mind

What place

Does laughter have

In that room?

Laughter

Is the echo of hope

The enunciation of joy

She's forgotten

How to laugh

And that's okay

I sit next to her

As a reminder

If she cares

To recognize it

May the 4th

14 years ago

We made our debut

Mother and son

From one

We became two

From me

Emerged you

A poem

Doesn't start

As a blank page

It starts

As a spark

A firing neuron

You

Didn't begin life

As an empty vessel

You

Were created

When love raged

Nine months later

That love had passed

But our love

Will always last

I used to witness

So many firsts

Everything

Was new to you

Now

I beg for tidbits

About your day

Knowing

You're still

Having firsts

Thirsty

For news of them

But relegated

To provider

Of food

And pocket money

I'm tempted

To buy a car

Just so 

I can spend

More time

With you

(leaving this poem unfinished for now...)

14 years!

Happy Birthday Nexen!

Lime Jello

 It's a strange thing.  I was reading yesterday and the protagonist in the book was going through a tough time and went to a bar for jello shots, they were green. (Amusingly, I am also going through a tough time and I was at a bar reading.  No jello shots though.  I was drinking my usual neat bourbon.)  Then I'm reading today, in Ray Bradbury's "Dandelion Wine", and there's a lime jello reference.

Although my mother did occasionally make us jello as a treat in my youth (she would make anything that was instant or three ingredients or less), it's not even close to a comfort food for me.  It just struck me as such a weird coincidence that there were two green jello references in as many days.

Anyway it's a far more pleasant thing to write about than just about anything else going on in my life these days.  If there's a third, disparate reference to green jello within the next 24 hours, however, I am going to go buy some green jello and make it.  Just because.  Whether I eat it, that's immaterial.  Perhaps I'll make shots.

Minds and Mirrors

I've been sifting

Through mirror illusions

Of myself

At times

Having to punch

The mirror

To find

What's real

In the end

Only my mind

Interprets

My reality

And so

I've set about

Strengthening 

My mind

So that every time

The wind changes

My reality

Is not

Blown

Away

Metal Monkey

I misplaced

My dreams

(Again)

And watch

(Feeling)

Powerless

As my (inner) world

Starts to

Freeze

And I

Do

Nothing

Although

Sometimes

I drink

About it

And then

The outstretched 

Hand

Not knowing

Really 

What it's offering

Other than

Connection

And

After ignoring

So many

I grabbed it

And

I find myself

(Again)

Unstuck

Hmmm

Imagine that.

The Woman in the Mirror

I remember hating you.

I remember allowing you to live in pain.

Thinking you deserve it.

I remember allowing the sadness to swallow you.

I remember wishing to see someone, anyone else.

Thinking it must be easier.

I remember, because it was yesterday.

Today, I look upon your face, and beg you to forget.

I ask you to find it, inside yourself, to be more.

To love.

To find freedom.

Your voice.

To forgive.

To silence the negativity within.

To swallow peace to soothe the pain.

To seek happiness, not distraction.

To see yourself, woman in the mirror,

And be happy for what you see.

I beg you.

Problematically

I love 

The feel 

Of the night

I hold

Entropy

In my arms

Allowing it

To take me

Spread me thin

Equalize me

As I whisper

To gravity

Keep me 

Grounded 

And I wink

At kinesthetics

Asking it

To move me

I smile

At the thought of you

Defying physics

Logic

And time

I don't remember

Making you mine

Or you

Making me yours

But here we are

Plane Thoughts

 And didn't you know?  She asked herself as they ascended.  Didn't you know how this would feel?

It's different though, she replied.  Now, today, it's new.

We write our own stories as we walk, run, skip through life.  As we float, barrel, bully our way forward.

We look back and what?  Cry?  Laugh?  Dream?  Hope?  What is there to now but the future?  What is there to future but past?

What if I held your pain in my arms and it dissipated?  What then? Would life be bearable?  Or unbearable still because you were not the one who ceased your own pain?

I call upon the heavens and they rain down vengeance.  What of our future then?

Who is Harvey Weinstein and why did I meet him?  He who I know.  My own family patriarch.  He doesn't know that I see him.  He feels it though.  But he doesn't know.  Everyone watches and thinks other.

But I am so much they don't know

Take my pain, sky.  Take it and rain relief upon all those in pain.  Or do you need my relief?   Take that and leave me with pain.

It is my bedfellow anyway.  Before and after.

Wonder

 Did I forget,

Or didn’t I ever know.

Sometimes

 Sometimes the beauty 

Of words

Overwhelms me

And I instantly realize

My

Insignificance 

It Hurts

It hurts

This way you speak to me

It breaks me

I bleed

You think

I’m tough enough

To endure

You’re wrong

About that

I run

From harsh language

Fists

Upon my psyche

My soul bleeds love

And I don’t have enough left

To show you

My heart 

10/28/2025

9:14 a.m.

Being sober, living sober, is so hard for me.  Doesn't help that I broke-up with Edgar and now have to feel all those feelings live and in color.  Process all these emotions...

Robyn lost her dog Gabe.  Mom called and told me.  I'll try and write her a poem.

We walk through life

Cherishing that which we love

Hoping and praying

We will be loved

And cherished back

Unconditionally

Some love us

And losing them

Breaks us open

And we have to be

Held so carefully

As we heal

I see your heart

I always have

I see your strength

I always will

Take love, baby sister

Know I love you

Unconditionally

Also

I think of you always

But especially

When you need extra love.

My heart hurts.

My brain feels swollen.

But my soul, my soul is peaceful.  The storm of that relationship, having died.  It's left a calm in my soul.  And a smile, knowing I can still learn to love a man.

Now - just to find the one that speaks to my soul.  Dances with it.  Doesn't judge it or assault it with fear-based anger.  Doesn't try to make it feel small so they can feel large.  Someone with quiet confidence and a peaceful heart.  Someone who won't try to break me.

I am a whole person.  A whole lot of parts.  I can put myself together from time to time.  But sometimes  (okay, quite often) I lose a piece.  Lose my peace.  But I recover eventually.  If the stars align.

I've been so stuck.  Stagnant.  Treading water while flirting with distraction.  Glancing away from my reflection.

I need to start running.  For strength.  Clarity.  Inner peace.  Universal truths.  The ability to look at myself again.

Now that I know all my children are okay, how can I make my garden grow?  I'm lusty for direction.  Purpose.  Meaning.

How do I get from here to who I want to be?  Is there a new version I want to see?  How can I awaken her, let her know I'm ready to let her shine?  Grow her wings.  Let her fly? 

Because I know, with my whole heart, I almost let her die.

Today

 Everything is in front of me

I just need to embrace it

Or will I

Let it slip through my arms

Like always

I admit

 I admit

I know nothing

But doing so

Means I know

One thing

So…

Magic

I found this one in an old journal, it was written between June 26, 2024 and July 6, 2024.

It's not without 

Where I will find

The Magic

It's within

And I will hold it there

Until it's ready

And I learn

How to begin

Is it a muse

A savior

Or a sage

Is it a sleeve

A canvas

Or a page

Where will I bleed enough

For you to feel me

Where will I die enough

For you to hear me

Where will I cry enough

For me

To hear

Myself?