I still feel strands connecting me to them
the filaments fine but hard to snap
the dreams that flood into me hurt
whether it's from reconciliation
or rememberance
I feel the fine details
and tears I've kept inside
fall

And I want to know,
am I a persone who is thought of,
am I someone to regret,
or is the memory something tight to hold
and think of with longing?
am I a dream too?

I get silence in replies
I feel it in my heart
and I know it's deserved

I'm too afraid to say
I miss you
from across the years

Oh please, let me feel this
don't store it away for another 10 years
someday these knots will be untangled
I pick at them daily,
watch my fingertips redden
taking deep breaths to calm down
how badly I hope I've changed
how scared I am that I haven't.

melancholy

I feel like I've lost an important part of myself. maybe many important pieces. there were once so many things that mattered to me, that I have let fall away because of convenience. in many ways, I've become a person I once would have looked down on. I don't live up to my ideals anymore. I am often afraid and don't leave the house. I have little space in my community. I've been kicked out again.
I am letting myself drift to the center, while detritus circles me. I can't reach any of it, arms outstretched regardless. there are small fragments I can almost touch, ghostly sensations to my fingertips, slowly curling back into fists. I have tried this how many times now? someday I'll recognize that there is no place for me.

some unfinished business

it's embarrassing to look into the mirror,
there's a new me there where the old once stood
and as much as I thought I'd like me
I still don't see who I am.

it's embarrassing to read old stories
coming here feels like someone else
I miss so many people now
I miss almost as much as I forget.

but I still conflate them and this
still draw lines between the unrelated,
keeping myself as center as possible,
feeling shame still for my flaws.

trying to make things sound good is too hard these days.
trying to sum up my life is too much.
I could apologize to everyone for everything
but I'm waiting to hear from them first.

I don't want to be sad or melancholy.
I don't want to hurt others.
I don't want to write anymore.
I don't want to follow old paths.

I'm doing my best, and sadly,
that's all I've ever done.
sometimes my best looks a lot like the worst,
and sometimes it's just me disappearing.

rainy season

contained by nothing, in the way that
barriers prevent entrance and exit
stuck with unparalleled choices
stuck rather than freed by

say "resist, resist"
too tired to stand up again(st)
stoned then shattered and scattered, rehomed
no, not rehomed,
self de-homed

"come home" come home,
the only place chosen
not born into or circumstantially poured
flying down streets, feeling everything (everything)
everything everything
'til everything
broke

"that's catastrophisizing"
a fall so far for me there's no way to recover
"stuck points" she says,
all I have to do is uncover
everything I've avoided

a bunch of buried memories
half-dug into and bled and boxed up
a barn's worth of junk on shelves
that I'd rather burn than remember.

don't worry.
it's not
about
you.

things I have learned

touched what hurt until it bled
picked the scab, nursed the scar
now every mirror wears the sight
anxiety ever reminded

dreamt inescapable paths
hidden rooms easily found when barely pried
always running, ever knowing
until finally confronted

weight released, dark ascended
new depression after revelation
a life left behind no longer beckons
fewer words left unspoken

but still so many remain