You know what I'm thinking?

No, no you don't.

I'm not really going crazy

I'm just so livid
most of the time
that I cannot
think
or
speak
or
walk
without the hot
putrid smell of
hate protruding from
my
pores.

I'm not really going crazy
I may have already hit rock bottom
because I hate where I shouldn't
and love where it can't

I am NOT
going crazy
but I really
feel like it
right now

I fear
staying
this way for
too long

I fear that it will make me crazier
than I am on a normal day
without the pain in my shoulder

I am NOT really going crazy

I saw a car on fire
at first I wanted to snap a picture,
I've never seen a car on fire before,
but instead I drove away,
stupid new phone without a shortcut to the camera.
Instead, I drove on, I was sure others had
called the authorities, but I was stuck
with the car for a while.
When I passed, I could feel the heat
of the flames inside my car
with the windows up two lanes away.
After passing, I could only think about
what it might mean:
a death
a change in lifestyle.
I felt sad.
I think it was the turning point.
I mean, I cried tonight
despite my desire to hide.
I actually cried
a little
but all I really
wanted to do was
scream and hit and throw things.
I nearly had an anxiety attack,
haven't had a real one in years, almost
since my mother's death.
Though it is never a real
attack, just a feeling
of dispair that
bears down on my
heart.

I'm not crazy.
If I say it enough,
I might believe it.
I'm not crazy.

The Heart of the Matter

Notice:
high water below
rough terrain ahead
ominous clouds above

Notice:
lone sun ray beaming down
last of the pixie dust shining out
breeze picking up

Notice:
you are not standing alone
you are surrounded by many loves
you are separated by many feet

Notice:
you are not looking outside
you are not overlooking the river
you are beating inside me

depression

everyday i look at my blog
everyday i want to write something
but i can't
i feel like i can't write
i can't write because i don't feel like it
and i don't feel like it because i have no real feelings
except the feeling of apathy

ramblings in the night

I watched a movie about a 39 year old teacher who wants to have a baby. It was a decent movie: irony, love, great actors. When it was over, I spoke truths out of my window. I made contradictory statements and declared uncertainties. I laughed at my foolishness and pride. I found fault with my past and flaws in my person. I said all this aloud. I looked at the moon and said it all so she could hear. I spoke to God, I think, but I wanted the moon to hear, for God already knows. I looked out at the moon and realized that in the great grand scheme of things, very little of what I say or feel matters. In the great grand scheme of things, my miniscule problems are nothing. I am nothing to the moon, yet I wanted her to hear my frustrations.

****

My foot started bothering me midday Thursday. I walked on it anyway. I made myself walk three miles on it anyway. I made myself jog on it anyway. Now it's swolen anyway. But just a little anyway. Maybe if I jog more it will heal, at least better than otherwise anyway.

****

going out alone isn't all it's cracked up to be

****

I almost dropped my phone into the river. It fell out of my hand the moment I tried to secure it just as I was beginning to jog on a semi-swollen ankle. It was the same spot where I thought to myself, "Gee, it sure would suck if I dropped my phone here." Just the day before I visualized dropping it.

When it fell, the back detaching itself and the two pieces that are my phone sliding just to the edge, I paused long enough to pick it up and reattach before jogging across, the water lapping loudly below.

I've figured it out:

we should visit a haunted house or crazy ghost trail!

I know what to do now! I'm gonna scare myself!

I'll get my friends together
we'll pay an outrageous amount of money
to be scared out of our minds
and then eat dinner together.

Sounds blissful to me.

:0

Try the Blues on Backwards

I wonder
how many people
are waiting
for me to
call
or
text
or
send a package
fed-ex
or
swing by.

and so

shall i wait
forever
for nothing?

(not) surprisingly
I am
.....................(secretly)
(not) satisfied
with (your) words
or (my) lack
of
............(sweet)
words -
........(mocking)
the (terrible)
feelings
..............................(knocking)
inside (me and you)
growing
.......................(blindingly)
strong and
................(unmistakingly)
wilting into
...........................................(UNCONCIOUS)
(effortless) hope(ful)

.....(nothings)

travel (completely random...or not)

v formation
contentment
sunset
glow of moon
among clouds
of purple
and pink

home
and
away

large enough
to get lost
inside
but small
enough to
find the
way

home
and
away

from all
those
people I
wouldn't
sit near
anway
yet regret
the photo
opps for
odd reasons
now that
I am

home
and
away

from everyone
else I
did
enjoy

Eid Mubarak...

It was here,
that feeling of
joy mixed with
a sense of sadness
at losing the time
and gaining
the experiences.

It was here,
that feeling of
emptiness when
everything is over
and you wish
you hadn't
said it
and you wish
you hadn't
been there
when it happened,
but you were
and you did
and you'll
likely
do it again.

It was here
the idea
that I'd write
something
somewhat
somehow
someway
upbeat and not
anything like
I'm feeling
now but in every
way how I was
feeling when
we chanted
like children
and handed
out balloons
like adults
and smiled
like we meant it
and laughed
like we were pleased
and ate
like we had starved
and cried
like we were devoid of tears.

It was here
that I began
with a greeting
of peace and hope
and blessings
upon our
feast
but
ended
up just venting
those pent
up feelings
of I don't
know what
exactly.

It was here
that I began
to write my
poetry again,
those words
I write to
try to say
what I want
to say
but cannot
say because
I never
intended to say them
at all
since they
are empty
words filled
with feelings
as empty as
the ocean and
as calm as
the tempest
seas and
as meaningless
as scripture.

It was here
that I began to
write, albeit
only a few words
in each line, those
ideas that popped
into my
head and
lingered, even if
for only a moment,
and took over
my being and
function of
fingers and
hand.

It is here
that I have chosen
to write of my
sorrow, even as
I try to write of my
happiness, for who can be
happy without
a hint of sadness
or celebrate
without a piece
of despair in their
heart, however
small.

It is here
that I write my
words that mean
something to me
but nothing
to someone.

It is here I will stop,
the writing,
not the loving
nor the hating
nor the breathing.

***
Other than my little tirade a few days late, my Eid was great. Eid Mubarak to everyone. When I'm feeling less empty, I'll write something more fulfilling. Maybe. :)