not in the mood for living
1. For every day you thought you weren’t good enough, breathe. And repeat this mantra: I am good enough. You will always be enough for those that find their sky in your palms. You. Are. Good. Enough.
2. Eat. Even if the food turns your stomach over to acidity and tells you it’s already too full from the coffee and sadness. Eat, you’ll feel better one day. And for now keep yourself alive.
3. Don’t hide the scars anymore. It’s okay. You’re allowed to have felt that way. You don’t need to answer people’s questions when they ask you where they came from. Simply change the subject or walk away. You don’t owe them anything.
4. There have been better days. There will be more better days. Wait for them. Please. Stay. You are wanted. You are needed. You are so so extraordinary for living through this.
5. Go to the therapist. It will help. If that one doesn’t, try another. Talk to someone. You need the company from someone outside of your life sometimes.
6. Don’t spend all day in bed. You just get sore and revel in self-pity. C’mon get up, call a friend (or don’t) but go out, see the world. The air will help cleanse your soul."
YOU ARE THE KIND OF SCAR
I DO NOT WANT TO WRITE ABOUT,
I SAY IN THE FIFTH POEM I HAVE WRITTEN ABOUT YOU.
HOW COME MY WORDS FUCKING HATE YOU SO MUCH?
HOW COME THEY ARE ALWAYS SO HUNGRY FOR YOU?
HOW COME I FUCKING HATE YOU SO MUCH?
HOW COME I’M ALWAYS SO
HUNGRY FOR YOU?
IT GOES LIKE THIS: I TELL YOU THAT I’M LEAVING
AND YOU HOLD MY HEAD UNDER WATER.
“MY HEART WAS SO GOOD FOR YOU,” YOU SAY.
“NO,” I TELL YOU. “YOUR HEART WAS A CEMETERY,
A GRAVEYARD, A MORGUE.
YOUR HEART WAS THE DEATH OF ME.”
MY MOTHER THINKS THAT
MAYBE IT WAS YOUR CHIPPED-ICE HANDS,
THE BROAD OAK TREE IN YOUR BACK YARD, THAT MAYBE
IT WAS THE CIGARETTE SMOKE.
THAT MAYBE IT WAS YOUR MOUTH, THAT
MOUTH ALL TIED UP WITH SECRETS
YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO,
MAYBE IT WAS YOUR MOUTH
BECAUSE IT WAS THE UGLIEST THING ABOUT YOU.
THAT MAYBE IT WAS MY BODY LYING
NAKED ON THE FLOOR, MAYBE IT WAS
THE BLOOD UNDER MY FINGERNAILS, THAT MAYBE IT WAS
SUPPOSED TO BE BEAUTIFUL.
THAT MAYBE YOUR TEETH
WERE THE WHITEST THINGS I’D EVER SEEN,
MAYBE I WAS SICK FOR YOU, BOY,
MAYBE I WAS ON MY FUCKING KNEES. BUT STILL —
I AM A CAT SCRATCHED JAW, I AM BLEEDING
OUT THE BELLY.
I AM SO MUCH MORE THAN A COFFIN
YOU CAN BURN.
say there’s a whole room of people and you’re somewhere in the middle of them all.
I walk in and I see you, but you don’t suddenly become the only person in the room. god no. you become the room. you are the room."
hate what I am