There are times I stop to think, when I allow my thoughts to overwhelm me and I lose myself. drift away for a while in the ocean. let the waves crash over me through violent calms and tiresome storms. I may need a nudge, or a pinch, a choke. maybe a tight rope around my throat to pull me back to reality. it takes me a while to respond to people, genuinely, in conversation. I heard you. I process and filter just like the rest of you. it may take a while for a thought or two to make it’s way through. my first thought depressing, my next one is sarcastic, oh, don’t get upset. you are so fucking dramatic. then you’re upset and I am pissed because clearly the point I was making was missed. I need a translator. from bitch to cognitive or maybe a bit polite. but no matter what I seem to say, I’m always the asshole. my love is the abuse. that comes with dealing with the wrong things I do. the little things I do. I could show you in every way my affection but the moment you bring me out in public with family I shut down in total panic. so you leave. like the last one. I’m freaking out sometimes. I don’t like being in crowded spaces. put your family on top of that and it just stresses me out even more. I can’t medicate before seeing them and my reaction time and self loathing inducing anxiety attacks…. I’m having one now… I’m not a social creature. honestly I’m a hermit by nature and I don’t want to change. I’ll invite the world into my space but I’ll never ask the same. but my love was abuse.. fuck you.. you made me promise not to hate you but it’s smoldering deep inside my stomach. it’s burned the wings off the butterflies you left behind, melted the blade off the tip of the knife you left in my spine. you left me behind. and I still write to you… fuck! fuck you! I’m so fucking sick of being mistreated and used. dragged along like a puppy and then left out when you realize I need food and water. the bare minimum… the bare minimum… I just wanted to feel the connection I saw in films, read about in stories.. but I guess it’s stories.. why would anybody ever want to be with me anyway. I’m chaos. I’m a burden. I’m a freak. weak at the knees when my heart throbs and willing to die on that same knife. I’m the bard, the background character, the anticlimactic Antichrist poorly articulating the appeal of the apocalypse to those who would chose to listen. but alas. I am without a doubt, barely holding it together and I’m going to be alone forever… I’m going to be alone forever.. and I am so tired of all the pretenders and objectors, the naysayers the crooks the politicians and the offenders and I’ll doomscroll for hours until my blood pressure is just.. you know.. way too fucking high.. so I’ll watch a movie that makes me cry.. play a few more video games.
I’m eating just to get by, to survive. it’s the best that I can do to eat while I’m at work. but on my days off I don’t leave the bed. I feel disgusting and sick but it’s all in my head. it’s all in my head isn’t it. that’s what I was lead to believe. bottle it up and wear my heart on my sleeves. no.. that’s not right. bottle it up, wear my heart in a flask. roll my thoughts up in paper and light it up fast and make sure I don’t show my emotions on this mask and name tag I wear so nobody asks.. my name. it’s generic and forgettable. we are one in the same. I’ll forget you like I forgot, what’s her name?
I’m journaling… I hope that’s okay. my therapist actually encouraged this. a public journal. said it would help me express myself.. idk.. maybe I should just stick to the poetry and shorter structured satires. my life is a satire. or a soft porn, grinding on bedsheets just to get warm.
it’s almost October and it’s still eighty degrees, I can’t wait to carve a pumpkin this year, I usually draw the face on the spot and they come out pretty wicked. I used twine one year to stick the mouth of one I did with….

my grandmother and mom still bring her up from time to time. she is doing well, she has a business of her own and a fiancé. she was their favorite. which disgusts me. because she was mine too, the one that got away, and forever holds a bit of me.

but I guess it’s fine. I fucked up somewhere just in time to see my life was going nowhere anyway. I’m going nowhere nowadays and it just seems like I am here to stay. money doesn’t help my depression and no matter where I go to try to do better it follows me like that ugly sweater I bought with a friend in 2009… there was a Photo Booth in the mall, we where drunk on white barn and Starbucks.

it’s three in the morning and I fell asleep at eight last night. I’ve been up since twelve now I think. I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore and I kind of just want to lay down in the tub… with a toaster. just to see what lies at the end of this coaster over been waiting in line for. but that’s just an intrusive thought. a random remark sooner forgot.

you know. an ex of mine used these poems I write as an excuse to why she didn’t want to maintain a friendly relationship after a breakup. said she read them as a suicide note and was heartbroken. I laughed in her face. because it was always my heart that was broken. repeatedly.. just like the last one. so it must be me. I guess. I’ll dawn the mask a bullet proof vest. tuck my heart in my pocket and a lie in my step.
I’ll lie until death.
lie until you all forget
that I should not be remembered.
I’m going to be alone forever.
© JubilantDragon