Perfecting A Poem

Depression = Anxiety is too exhausted to end Anxiety.

Mania = Anxiety is up for three days. Perfecting a poem about Anxiety.

PTSD = Anxiety hurts Anxiety. Anxiety blames himself for creating Anxiety.

This is how
My day begins.

This is how
My day goes
Wrong.

This is how
My life bends.

With a whimper
And a bang.

Whimper.
Bang.

Vibrant Is The Rhythm

Vibrant is the rhythm
Of a valley on the rise
Winter is the silhouette
Of summer in disguise

Vibrant is the rhythm
Of a valley on the rise
Winter is the silhouette
Of summer in disguise

Passion is a seamstress
Scissoring the sky
Another button torn
Another zipper flies

Passion is a seamstress
Scissoring the sky
Another button torn
Another zipper flies

Winter kisses summer
Kissing is divine
Kissing is divine

Summer kisses winter
Where the sun
Don’t shine

Where the sun
Don’t shine
Kissing is divine

Kissing is divine
Where the sun
Don’t shine

Generalized Anxiety

My brain drains my mind. I judge my inner critic. I blame myself for feeling guilty. Deaf is the blind man painting the sound of my dreams. I’m a big kid now. My thoughts think little of me. Silent are the letters in the poems I rhyme. My brain drains my mind. I’m too tired to dream of a better life.

My brain drains my mind. I judge my inner critic. I blame myself for feeling guilty. Deaf is the blind man painting the sound of my dreams. I’m a big kid now. My thoughts think little of me. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m the opposite of fine. My brain drains my mind. I’m stuck. I’m lost. I’m falling behind.

My brain drains my mind. I judge my inner critic. I blame myself for feeling guilty. Deaf is the blind man painting the sound of my dreams. I’m a big kid now. My thoughts think little of me. Silent are the letters in the poems I rhyme. My brain drains my mind. I’m too tired to dream of a better life.

My brain drains my mind. I judge my inner critic. I blame myself for feeling guilty. Deaf is the blind man painting the sound of my dreams. I’m a big kid now. My thoughts think little of me. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m the opposite of fine. My brain drains my mind. This is my poem. Here’s the last line.

After Trauma

1.

Every day after trauma is another day to heal.
When I suffered flashbacks as a child, I curled up
into a ball and became, for a moment, an object.

Today when the world overwhelms me, I curl up
into a ball and become, for a moment, an object.
To come back to life, I breathe in and breathe out.

2.

When a friend falls apart and their hope shatters,
their falling apart happens in the same world
where I once fell apart, too. Our coming apart,

individually, comes together in the nick of time.
I befriend a process of trauma and recovery.
I give myself time. I hope for more hope.

3.

Trauma exists but so does love. Love can feel
traumatic to those who feel unworthy of love,
but everyone deserves to love and be loved.

To keep hope alive, I breathe in and breathe out.
Sometimes I curl up into a ball to protect myself.
Every day after trauma is another day to heal.

Not OK Millennial

A careless millennial
Stores dirty pictures
On password-protected
Hard drives he can’t access
Without making a mess
Which his boomer dad
Says is frustrating
From first-hand experience
Which is perfectly normal
But not OK with his mother
Standing in the doorway

Recipe For Disaster

After everyone’s left
For the evening
A fed-up busboy
At a less-than-fine
Establishment
Drinks a bottle of wine
And sleeping pills
From a gravy boat
And falls to his knees
Because he can’t stand
Among other things
Another shitty night
Washing paper plates
On an empty stomach
Counting parsley flakes
Measuring thyme
And sweeping the floor
Under the rug
But the kitchen’s closed now
He couldn’t stand the heat
He doesn’t care
He made a mess
And left behind
Among other things
His resignation letter
And a recipe for disaster