Long Distance

The distance between us seems insurmountable
When all I do is want to hold you close.
What you mean to me, can't be explained,
When we've touched deeper, on the levels of the soul.
So tonight, I'll pop the top off of a bottle,
So tonight, I'll play pretend.
Even though you're not near me,
You're nearer still, to my soul.
So tonight, I'll play some sweet song,
I'll find all the little ways to let you know.
No New Year's kiss in physical form, true,
But I know you well with my soul.

What Used to Be

Like smoke and dust and remains of once were,
The fire is out, the embers burn no more,
Still lingers an image, a fragment, a soul,
To one to the other and to pay the toll.

The darkness is damning, the light is too sweet,
It seems all that's left is to compete and compete,
And though we should have enough, there is no whole;
Repairing a soul is more than burning coal.

The past is past, what's done is done,
And it is the same in moon or in sun;
Consequences pass over like they are the all,
Never once recognizing the real and true goal.

The candle is melted to useless wax,
And the barrels and bags are now useless sacks.
Yet time and time again, a new order calls,
The tears collected in the useless bowl.

Like smoke and dust and remains of once was,
Still lingers an image, giving pause;
Not all is lost, not as long as there's soul,
Even broken, it's as good as a whole.

Never Quite Safe

Safety in numbers is the phrase.
But it is in numbers that I never feel safe.
Instead, I feel scared, frightened, and afraid;
The pretense of being someone who doesn't pretend is too much to take.

When I find lonely hollows and run,
My mind spirals and changes social action
Into a harrowing experience of nightmares and faux pass
That, despite my hallowed heart, I cannot quite escape.

Solitude and softness free my mind,
The trap is anxiety and pressure,
A million hands, a million directions,
To go this way or that way.

But in isolation, the voices sound,
The misery shivers its way up my spine,
And vices wrap around my soul like vines,
I am the error, the glitch, and the fool.

Safety in numbers is the phrase,
But lonely hollows better suit this goal,
With solititude and softness to wear away the stress,
However, isolation brings up the dark.

So I write terrible poetry that pales
In comparison to the emotional fate
Of a faithful, aching soul,
Who is lost along the waves.

have poem, will travel (untitled poem)

For me, writing is a drug.
A cathartic experience.
It is like nothing else.
When I write, I create.
What I create is up to me,
but so often I let myself lose control,
let myself pour words onto paper,
words onto screen,
carry myself and my thoughts away.
I write, and I learn.
My passion drives me to research,
and like many writers,
someone who saw my search history
would accuse me of murder.
Writing is a need for me,
as much as shelter or food or water,
a necessity for my survival.
Writing is how I feel God.
It's also how I dive into the world
and breathe in all the many different people
and become more than myself.
I feel calm, and at peace,
when I write, because finally
I am doing the one thing
that I can, with reasonable assurance,
say makes me whole.
I am passionate for it,
I am in love with it,
and because of that
when I find the words coming,
in whatever form they take,
I feel utter bliss,
something dangerously close
to what I'd say
might just be nirvana.

Because I Love to Write

the world spins.
slow, steady.
air fills, air collapses.
memories.

i have something to say
so i write
i have nothing to do
so i write
i am very very afraid
so i write
i hope for a better tomorrow
so i write

everything tumbles
sometimes i am confused
the blurs are mountains in my mind,
molehills blown out of proportion
yet the eponymous ephemeral moment
of these words, these letters,
the writer's codex,
the poet's spinning tornado

i do not know what else to do
so i write
i have too much to do
so i write
i am lonely
so i write
i have many friends
so i write

casting out my net into a sea
filled with people who maybe
will be drawn by the right letters
in the right order

i write because it is my everything
because it is how i contain my soul
when my soul is screaming, flying,
running away from me with melodious intent

i write because i must
i write, most importantly,
because i love to write

The Slow Improvement

I have come to the realization that I am not mentally healthy enough to live alone.

There will be times and dark days when I need the expectations of those around me to make me move.  There will be times and dark days when I need someone to squeeze my hands unbearably tight and remind me how to breath normally instead of the frantic in-and-out of panic.

I may never be healthy enough to live by myself.

But I'll manage because that's what you do.

I am healthy enough to recognize my issues, to talk about them even when I'm dark.  I'm healthy enough to take deep breaths and fight past my brain screaming epithets at me and speak up.  I'm healthy enough to take care of myself.

But taking care of myself means that I need people there to catch me.

I am beginning to learn, slowly but surely, that no matter your issues you can be a good mother.  That no matter your issues you can be a good friend, a good wife, a good daughter.

But I have also realized that I will always have dark days.  I will be able to fight my way out of the dark days, but I need help.  I can hold on for a long time on my own but climbing requires a hand.

And that's okay.  That's me, and what I need to do to take care of myself.  I'll take care of myself.  I know what makes me happy, I know the little ways to calm myself down.  Sometimes I need other people to do that.  But - and here's the important part - I can do that.

I'm brilliantly alive.  Slowly but surely, I am realizing that I am capable.  I am in the dark - this morning I woke up thinking that I wanted to die - but now I am taking deep breaths and saying I am capable even though my inner thoughts are telling me how pathetic I am.

I'm improving.

I may not achieve everything I want, but I'll find my own way and my own path and I'll do that with my friends and loved ones.  I'm not alone and I don't have to force isolation upon myself.

There's a fact that still leaves me whirling.
People want to help me.

Love

Love is packed lunches.
Love is breakfast in bed.
Love is hugs.
Love is the willingness to cry
In front of someone
When you put on a front for the rest of the world.
Love is support.
Love is compassion.
Love is that careful, measured way you talk
When you know you have to say hard truths.
Love is those hard truths.
Love is a myriad of little things
That  add up into one big thing.
The biggest thing.
Love.
Love is steady, true, unfailing.
When everything else is broken
There's love in the shadows and the ashes.
Love from God. From family. From friends.
When all else fails, remember.
There's still love. And love?
Love is powerful.
Love is memorable.
Love is the one true, best thing.

Love is packed lunches.
Love is breakfast in bed.
Love is hugs.
Love is unconditional.