stress relief

Do Not Touch
Please do not
feed the feelings
false senses of hope.

sometimes my heart feels claustrophobic

and transparent all at the same time 

like its surrounded by a chainlink fence

and they poke it with sticks to see if it still beats for them

and they throw rocks at it to see if it will continue to contract & release & forgive 

and they stare at it amazed that even with all the stitches and scars, it could burst at the seams with all the love it still wants to give

they like to unstitch the red thread that has taken years to sew onto my sleeve

they sit back in complacency

and watch as it unravels me
every emotion of mine in full transparency

they like to pick up my heart and put it in their hands

testing the pressure points somewhere between loving me and hurting me

but my heart is more than a stress ball that they play with when they're bored

so that's why I built the chainlink fence

held together by lock and key

(both of which are carried by me)

because I don't owe them heartbeats,

and I've never believed that heart races are meant to have winners--

sometimes you're just meant to feel things

but you should know that my heart is not your stress ball 

and I am worth so much more 

than the apathetic way you love me when you're bored.

i am not your ash tray

i put my heart in the palm of your hand
and you set it aside
suffocating me with your complacence

while i fought for every breath
you smoked your cigars
one by one
losing me in the smoke behind you

you're addicted to the power
you're addicted to the upper-hand
you're addicted to feeling like a wanted man

you were never in this for me.

my chest was heavy
my ribcage frail
as my lungs began to collapse
i prepared to take one last breath

but in an instant my eyes were opened,
the weight in my chest lightened

sudden resuscitation

his every word breathed life back into my lungs
his sincerity patched up every missing piece you took
and his eyes became my careful protectors

he is all that you could never be.

but here you are sitting on my couch
trying to convince me that you're sorry...
an addict with severe withdrawals
of being what (i thought) i wanted.
still, your eyes search mine like a microscope
seeking any trace of vulnerability
any hint that i still care


but all you can see
is that i can breathe again


and suddenly you say you'll give up smoking.

SaveSave

Please Wake Up.

It's a Thursday.

But it's not just another Thursday.

I've been trying to figure out how I'm feeling or what I'm thinking but it's so hard to decipher between feeling nothing and feeling everything all at once; it's hard to decipher the unlimited questions spinning through my mind from the hollow silence that echoes throughout my brain. 

I'm torn between making sure I remember him but trying to forget the tragedy that's taken place here. I want to remember him, and him, and her, and them... But not like this. I don't want to remember what they did--or how--but I do. And I can't believe how hard I cried in first period. I didn't even know him that well. And it's not like I've never heard my teacher read that letter before. She read almost the same one just under four months ago... It just read a different name. It just had a different date. I think that is the reason this is so hard. It's like a nightmare that we've had over and over and over again, and it hurts a little more each time. 

When are we going to wake up.

I'm starting to fear that we never will. Some people are just heavier sleepers, and no matter how loudly we say their name, or shake them by their shoulders, or pry open their eyelids... They have to choose to wake up.

This is me begging, as someone who just five months ago, didn't want to wake up. This is me begging you to open your eyes. To wake up to a new morning. I'm not asking you to forget what happened to you yesterday, or to forget the terrible nightmare you had last night. I'm asking you to see the sun rise one more day. Trust me, I know it is seemingly impossible--I know that the weights on your eyelids are the heaviest ones you've ever had to carry.

But please, wake up.

It took a few days,

But I woke up.

And it took a few more weeks,

But eventually I was grateful that I did.

Please wake up.

This is a poem I wrote in September... And I think now is a good time to share it.

I found myself drowning

In the oceans of grief,

Struggling to breathe,

But treading water.

I tried to do it

On my own,

But the waves crashed

All around.

The riptide came;

My emotions whiplashed.

I didn't know what to feel,

So I felt it all.

And just as the water

Penetrated my lungs,

A lifeboat came

To pull me out.

The lifeguard struggled;

He called me by name.

"You know how to swim,

I taught you how...

You cannot give up.

The world needs you now."

The bricks that built me

Bricks. 

They build houses (and ovens that make fantastic pizza.) But they also destroy windows. 

So where does that put people? Do bricks build us or destroy us?

Every brick that built me started out as a stumbling block. 

A stumbling block that could have destroyed me.

The Bricks That Built Me

A brick for when my grandpa died.

A brick for the friends who convinced me that being cool meant

that you had to make everybody else feel miserable.

A brick for how I felt like an outcast when I decided to leave that group.

A brick for the boy that called me a bitch.

A brick for how much I hated myself in 8th grade for not being pretty enough.

A brick for the first time the devil knocked at my window.

A brick for my 16th birthday party.

A brick for the first time a boy stood me up.

A brick for when I lost my very best friend.

A brick for the first time I sat on a couch in the therapist’s office.

A brick for all of the times after that.

A brick for the second time the devil knocked at my window,

And a few bricks for the thoughts he put in my head.

A brick for everyday I ate lunch behind the baseball field alone.

A brick for all the times I took the long way home from work.

A brick for Monday, September 29th.

A brick for the boy who wouldn’t let me watch the movie.

A brick for every time I told him “No.”

A brick for my insecurities,

And a brick for my friend who likes to point them out.

A brick for every time I thought I was special--

A brick for every time I was wrong about that.

A brick for every fear about my future,

And a brick for all the sleep I continue to lose over it.

When these blocks were placed in my path, I stumbled.

And I stumbled hard.

I tripped and I face-planted on the concrete. 

But each time I rose from the cement,

and turned around to see what broke me,

All I saw was a brick.

I knew I could put it to good use,

So I kept it and started building.

With bricks labeled "adversity,"

And mortar labeled "strength,"

I built the person I am today.

And I may only be 5'3", but I'm starting to feel a lot taller than that...

Because I’m not done building.

to my dear friend

I've seen your eyes grow tired

Maybe it's the stress of it all.

Maybe it's that too much time has gone by.

Maybe it's the sleep you don't get.

Maybe it's that you've spent too many nights alone.

Maybe it's that you're scared of getting any older.

But I'm afraid it's more than that,

Because your tired eyes

Don't explain your tired heart,

or your shaking hands,

or your weak ankles,

or the scars on your wrist...

and the watch that covers them.

But although I know what that watch is hiding,

and it scares me to death every time you wear it,

I hope that watch is a symbol

that you believe

Time

Will Heal

All

Your 

Wounds.

And darling, I just hope you will let it.

technical difficulties

There is a tired that sleep can't fix,
A loneliness that even people cannot dismiss.
There are diseases that can't be cured by medication,
and suffocation that won't resolve by resuscitation.
There is a cold that coats or blankets or fireplaces cannot heat.

Cold hands. Cold feet. Cold hands. Cold feet. Cold hearts.

There are pains that can't be numbed,
and sadnesses that can't be fixed;
Not by laughter or friends 

or doctors or therapists.
There are breaths that hurt to take,
and there are hearts that only know how to break.

We are human.

I'm not saying I wish I weren't human,

Or that I wish all this pain did not exist...

I'm just saying that at least robots can be fixed.

But while my technical difficulties are not so easily repaired,
I've decided that the complexity of my human soul
is something I can bear.

Because although my skin blisters, 

And my stomach aches,

And my head pounds,

And my heart races,

And I ache

And I break

And I ache

And I break

And I feel...

Most importantly,

I heal.

Because I am alive.

I am alive, I am alive, I am alive.