I'm tired -- tired of being tired, of feeling like my body is held down by anchors sunk to unfathomable depths, leaving me struggling for air, for energy. I'm tired -- of waking up to feel like going back to sleep, where my body is whole and full of life. I'm tired -- of running interference with exhaustion, and mitigating it with so much coffee that my piss stinks of it. I'm fucking tired -- the spirit is willing, is full of fire and passion, but this Judas of a body is weak.
Tag: Mental Health
Nostalgia | Poems that Suck
There's one addiction I have and that's living in the past. I like to go back in time and replay scenes in my head; good ones, bad ones, they're all the same. I like to relive them in great detail, slowing down time to capture the specifics I missed in those moments the first time around. I imagine that they are photographs, and imagine the condition they'd be in. Some edges worn from constant replay, other sticky with the aftermath of love making, still others, ripped and pasted together again, their edges burnt in fury.
Worn Soft | Poems that Suck
There's something soothing
about running my fingertips
along the edges of a well-loved
book.
Something gratifying in the
softness of something once so precise.
I hope, that in my old age,
I find the same sweet softness
in myself that I find so valuable
in a book.
Summer’s Rain | Poems that Suck
I lift my face skyward so the rain can wash over me, kissing my brow, soothing the delicate flesh beneath my eyes, caressing my weary mouth. And for a moment, as fleeting as a heartbeat I feel perfect in my brokenness.
A Pool Skimmer | Poems that Suck
Battles for life happen
in the desert;
saints,
demoniacs,
madmen,
Jesus.
My desert was a
shitty community pool,
brimming with gallons of
toddler piss
and
ruptured
fart bubbles.
I'd hopped the fence at 4 a.m.
fearful I'd skewer my cunt
and be stuck like that
under the humid
moonless
Florida
sky.
I'd jumped in with my,
No.
His clothes on,
like some pathetic
Ophelia.
Even my Chuck Taylor's
which made me feel so
Rock 'n Roll.
I could hear my breathing,
my heartbeat;
In.
Thump, thump.
Out.
Thump, thump.
And I sent up a prayer to
whatever
God was listening.
Even if it was
nothing at all.
Just let me die,
in this piss
filled pool
and in the morning some
poor slob can fish me out.
Long handled skimmer;
and me too dead to care about
the burden.
