Poem: Indulge

Not running away from the pain
is the bravest thing I’ve ever done–
Choosing against addiction
Choosing against obsession
Choosing against rage
Choosing against self-destruction.

It seems obvious,
but when faced with the unthinkable,
it’s the embrace of an escape,
the whisper on my shoulder,
the promise of forgetfulness,
and this ledge I come back to
again and again.

But as I stare into
the abyss of fake freedom,
I have chosen again
and again to walk away–
To charge into my darkness
To face the throes of my secrets
To conquer my own demons.

Numbness is the promise
to which I say “no.”
And it is the hardest and
most courageous word I’ve yet used.

To simply sit with my heartache,
and remind myself to just
keep fighting,
keep hoping,
keep loving,
keep talking,
keep writing,
and to always

keep going.

Poem: thin lines

It’s hard to love your body

when it’s the reason:

repeated

repeated

repeated

repeated

damage and transgressions.

It’s hard

to not want–

claw

shred

rip

–your own skin off

with shining acrylic

nails, a coffin shape,

etched to kill.

Or make yourself unappealing—

to get so

fat

averted eyes protect your dignity—

or conversely

to get so thin

you can’t

be seen. To be

so thin

that you disappear.

Or

skip the thin

and just

disappear all together.

You can’t violate the air,

Or the mist,

Or the wind.

So become the sky

line drawn

like a race track to heaven—

or hell.

depending

on which God you

believe in. Perhaps

just the abyss.

A white nothingness for all

eternity. With so

much bullshit,

a lot of nothing

sounds

sweet.

Poem: Peace Before the Heartbreak

When a song has the power to transport you
to a moment–A moment that brought you
so much joy–even though now it breaks your heart.

But even in the breaking,
there is peace that it once happened.
That simple contentment.
That simple joy.
That simple thankfulness.

That a moment could have existed at all.

And for that small second, you get to go back
and relive it again as if nothing has changed

As if all were right with the world again.
As if he still loved you.
As if you could turn over in bed and hold his hand

Or press your head into his shoulder
and smell his deodorant–degree for men.
Or smell the dust in his hair.

As if you could snooze the alarm
and sleep next to him just “five more minutes”
until those five minutes turn into an hour and suddenly
you’re late for class.
But who cares
When the entire world is right beside you.

But the song ends, and you lie in the middle
of the bed in the dark of your apartment.

So you start it over.

As if the feeling will last just a little longer.
As if the memory will come back as strong and alive.

The plucking guitar seduces your memories,

and back you go to the old apartment,
to the right side of the bed,
and to the sigh of relief
When you turn over

And he’s there.