poem

Rewire the Circuitry

I pull at these formations under my skin
in the hopes that these wires of mine
could be undone,
to reprogram this life from its beginning.

I tell them it’s not you, it’s me;
I need to learn how to rewire my circuitry.
My programming was at fault;
I blame the programmer from the start.

But could it be, it’s you, not me?
It’s the end-user with the complaint;
they need to learn how to work this circuitry,
my programming is all in order, you see.

Maybe it’s not us at all, it’s them;
they’ve made us this way.
We’re only 1’s and 0’s they’ve put together;
it’s not our fault we don’t align with this society.

But no, it’s not them after all- it’s us
who decide what to do with what we’ve been given.
So cut these wires and break free,
free from this mixed up circuitry.

poem

Split in Two

The way I hide away,
to remove myself, from myself,
from my other self,
the one that overthinks,
to remain in motion,
without hindrance or hesitation,
because she doesn’t want to
think of how disorganized,
an absolute wreck, she is
trying to keep it all together.

She exhausts herself; gives
too much to others until
burnout. She keeps up with
self-care, responsibilities,
other duties but she knows
it’s just a matter of time
until it all blows.

She breathes to steady the
heartbeat; in, out, in, out.
Another thing she tries
to control but she knows
it’s only a matter of time
until it too takes
it’s last toll.

poem

Exhaust

You give to others to be the love they need
You give to others to be the one when no one else is there
To be their cheerleader, to be their rock
When no one else had cheered for you
When you thought the more you give, the more you get
To see the smile and warmth in their faces
When you thought it would give everlasting joy
It is but a fleeting moment after hours of attempts to muscle through
It is the high at the top of the roller coaster before the car drops
And it’s the sinking slowly back into the sand
Covered up to your eyes, just enough so you can’t be seen
But you see that there’s no one giving back to you

And you breathe that in, breathe out and release

poem

Are We Home Yet?


You’re the gun
and the bullets
inches away delivering the deepest wounds.
I am wounded, fallen,
and hollowed out by you

Lying with my insides shredded
you believe it was all necessary to keep you sane

I beg you to save me,
if only you could see how deep these wounds run
if only you could prevent them from happening
if only you could truly see me for me
if only you were moved to the same depths by the same things
if only you channeled the same pains and could sit in the dark with me
if only you didn’t see things differently
if only we were emotionally in tune
then I wouldn’t feel shameful for the way I am
then I wouldn’t have to change how my brain works,
how it turns every difference into a negativity instead of opportunity

I beg for sameness, likeness, because that’s home
and I want to go home
fall sleep under the covers
and never wake up
poem

Disconnected

Particles of despair spin midair.
They soon become swallowed and part of me
before there’s a chance of being wiped away.

I try and I try and only return to asking:

How is this pain necessary?
Is not struggling even an option?
Is my negative perspective the only guideline I carry?

The nature of it does not resemble the ideal.
When it starts to feel like
we’re falling off track from living the dream,

there’s a knock on the door. We shake off the covers
to awaken where unicorns fly above rainbows
and oh, how we wonder with befuddlement,

‘how did we get here?’

poem

Dare To Defy

shapes and shadows
strike awe and wonder

lines connect
pulling images together

signifying tenderness
you’ve longed to hold

her reflection resembles
the moon smiling back

she pulls you,
her rising tides keep you

intrigued
when she starts to recede

you continue,
there’s no other way

there’s no other choice,
hold on tight while she gently sways

poem

Sudden Attack

The heart stops,
stomach drops,
and fear attacks
tearing and scraping the insides.
Stepping back, it’s not the right time.
It’s too delicate; my hands are tied.

I stall. I ruminate. I do all the things not to destroy this.
I dread that I will, gravely… to the point of not moving.
This is what it’s like when people become a ghost.
It’s too much to go forward.
So, I turn
in the opposite direction.

poem

Where does it hurt?

*trigger warning: depression*

It’s a walking numbness, a dull pain
that sometimes presents itself in waves.
It slowly builds, and one day, every few weeks it explodes.
I can’t bring myself out of bed.
The rolling tears subside for a moment only to build again and again.
The world outside, and the family inside, doesn’t exist, only what’s happening right here.
Only this pillow, only this blanket, only the thoughts of love so far away, always out of reach.

‘You should call someone, snap out of it.’

But you don’t.

They say to dig deep to find the root of the pain.
Where does it hurt?
When did it start?
Is it constant?
Does it hurt when you hold your body in such a position?
Does it hurt when you turn your insides out?
Do you cover your pain with a smile and ‘I’m fine’?
Does it ceaselessly carry weight under your eyelids?
Does it pull on you with every chance, every second of the day?
Does it numb you from climbing out of bed?
Do you answer ‘yes’ to every survey question regarding depression?
If ‘yes’, please proceed to your nearest healthcare provider immediately.

Isn’t it all just a sham, a system to pop more pills, to pour money into pharmaceutical companies
to keep you addicted to a drug that causes side effects, and more pills to alleviate such effects?
All the more pain to bear,
more hurting to just barely keep you together.

So I resist, and insist ‘I’m fine’.
It’s only a bad day, it will pass.
Until the next set of waves crash.