I am striving,

Burnt as toast, but I am surviving.

In a world I dislike, but I'm recognizing.

This world is nothing but arriving

At the face of this existence, no more hiding

You can try, but you are lying

To yourself, that you are truly trying.

The anger, the resentment, and the conniving.

As we hold what we say, we are pacifying.

You hold your peace, realizing,

Faith, hope, and love are tragically dying.

Where did it go? Please stop the crying.

Make the difference with socializing

Don't make everything about providing,

Encouragement of this terrorizing.

Believe what you know and keep on smiling.

Know the rest of the world is also surviving.

I’m not going to act like my day to day is unique or mystical. I wake up to cats who demand to be fed immediately. They rule the house, we live to serve them. Make the first cup of coffee to start my half hour of pondering while staring out the front window. Never remember all the places my ADHD brain wonders. Get ready for work, struggle to match colors, pick the best fuzzy socks that are still clean. Make a quick breakfast, brush teeth, grab my bag and head off to work. I drive to the train station, take the train into NYC, then shuttle to work. Works always interesting, a whole lot of science and coffee. Co-workers are great, we all get along and it’s all positive. I take the commute home, have dinner, hangout with my family and cats, raid social media, then shower, sleep and repeat. It sounds mundane to most, but it’s not to me anymore. There once was a time I dreaded the first breath of my conscious day. Rising from bed was painful. I felt no purpose, everything about me was a failure. I hated my boring life. Slowly this view point shifted. I don’t know exactly when it started. I’ve been through many things, but the most impactful was when a few people I loved died. After the fourth person passed I finally realized life isn’t about having a flashy, exciting, crazy, eventful day. It’s about enjoying the moment. Making plans the day of and living them thoroughly. Letting yourself feel everything. Take just a few short seconds to watch a bird and admire how this little potato with wings manages to take flight.

So In time I found myself enjoying the little things that use to make me want to literally die. My life may seem boring to most, but it’s absolutely beautiful to me. The gift of waking up to give the cats morning treats is enough for

and i want to let go,

want to take bits of wire and string,

glue ends to ends to ends in between

the notches of my spine, and mold wings

from the scraps of all my broken poems,

and fly

away, away, away,

so far away,

until i can see her no more.

and i want to let go,

of all her smiles,

of all her laughs,

of all her words,

of the listerine on her breath at night,

of the smell of clean sheets and cat piss,

of the lotion she’d use all the time,

of the book pages she’d turn on the

axis of my crooked, twisting, broken spine

(crooked, twisting, broken, wingless spine)

i.

not doing my schoolwork,

not looking through records,

not answering emails,

not drinking water,

not not not

(i think i hate the color green)

ii.

she came over today,

gave me a present for

my birthday (i hate it, i hate it, i hate my)

(birthday, maybe), and she

wrapped up a book in

green wrapping paper,

folded stickers of our (used-to-be-my) favorite

comics into the front pages,

wrote a fifty dollar check

in the card. i don’t

think i’ll cash it in, or

however it’s said. i think

i hate the color green.

iii.

she’s been in my nightmares,

drunk and afraid,

angry, kills me in

all these special ways (i guess)

and saying all these

dumb dumb dumb truths

that don’t leave me when i wake,

and i get lost in the fact that you didn’t leave,

hold onto the way the blood feels like as it leaves

me, too, as you did in all the nightmares before,

and here she was, gone and going,

come and coming and came

(thought i was prepared, but)

(i guess not).

iv.

and i thought it’d be easier to be angry,

thought it’d be easier to hold my ground,

thought it’d be easier to be strong,

to be, to be, to be,

to be anything but the way i am,

or the way i was.

v.

and i hated the way my eyes watered with

unshed tears, watered with unsureties and

watered with all my weaknesses.

vi.

and my throat hasn’t opened back up,

nor have my eyes dried, nor has

my smile come back around,

nor has my world felt steady since.

vii.

she told me she’d see me soon

(can only hope it’s like last time)

(she said the same thing—months of)

(silence following) and she told me that she was late,

and she told me, she told me, she told me,

she told me so many things

that i can’t help but forget.

viii.

i think i hate the color green.

ix.

and i felt so childish, so dumb,

so cowardly, all holed up in all my doubts

and i felt so childish, so dumb,

opening the card the wrong way

and i felt so childish, so dumb,

so unsure, in the way i rushed to stand

(and didn’t know where to hold myself)

(and didn’t know how to stand upright)

and i felt so childish, so dumb,

listening to the way her voice lilted,

to the way it rose and fell,

to the way it sounded so familiar,

to the way i felt so small and so quiet

in response.

x.

and i felt so hurt, so angry, so unsure,

so dumb, such a waffling fool who doesn’t

know what she wants, and i felt so so so bad

for the way i fell right into the entertainment

of talking with her again, of saying the same things,

of hearing her tell me the same words,

of being treated the same way,

and i hated, i hated, i hated

her & myself & everyone else & my dumb,

stupid, idiotic, monstrous heart for it all.

xi.

and i’m so

tired, so tired, so tired, so

tired, and i so badly want to sleep, so

badly want to earn a bead, so badly want to

lay on the floor and just forget every silly

little

t h i n g

xii.

and i think i hate the color green.

xiii.

and in other news:

i overshared and made those uncomfortable,

i undershared and made things so awkward,

and i talked and talked and talked

and i’m so ashamed.

and i’m tired and i want to cry and

i want her to go away and never ever ever ever

come back, ever ever ever again, to just

stay gone and keep going and going and

going, and i want my nightmares to

go away, all their heavy truths and

nervous thoughts weighing down so low

on my already-shackled form.

the simple fact that we have absolutely no way of proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is nothing out there, and i struggle to believe that in a universe with billions of galaxies that there is not some far off planet with life forms we have yet to understand that could be magical. there's just no way to know.

(and that right there is the only reason i would ever want to be immortal, to see the possible day humans discover something as insane as that.)

*while this post comes off a bit childish, I definitely write a fair amount of not so happy stuff so I thought it would be fun to just write something fun and silly about a bear in Yosemite looking for food. very random ;)*

The sun beat down on Herman’s shaggy back, penetrating the thick wall of fur he had for protection and baking his massive body. He rolled over onto his paws and lumbered through the meadow towards a stand of trees, hoping desperately for shade. As he sunk into the soft grass, enjoying the marginally cooler temperature, he noticed the long line of cars parked on the road, not twenty yards away. Herman remembered what his grandpa used to tell him,

“When the line of cars gets longer than you can see, you know what time it is…”

“Summer!” Herman would reply, to which his grandpa would smile.

“Yes, but also-”

“Snack time!” Herman growled to himself, excitement flooding through his veins. He shuffled towards the cars, watching to see which one might contain the best food. Trudging through the dirt just along the road, he plodded over to an SUV with tinted windows and snuffled up against the glass. Bug spray and a pair of sunglasses? He though incredulously as he scanned the trunk. Fools. Who doesn’t bring bug spray hiking in Yosemite? They’ll get eaten alive. Serves them right for not leaving food in their car, he thought savagely, already plodding towards the next vehicle along the road, a red Toyota. Herman peered through the window and sighed. The only thing in the trunk was a large, cylindrical container and an unrolled sleeping bag. In the container was more kinds of protein bars than he could count, as well as trail mixes and energy gels, but the sticker reading BEAR PROOF CANISTER told him he’d do better to keep moving. Stomach rumbling, Herman proceeded to a beaten silver Acura with dust coating every available inch of the car. Back from some off-roading, he noted gleefully. Maybe they brought a picnic and saved ME some leftovers! Looking through the windows, he chuckled to himself.

“A packing blanket?!” He growled in shocked delight. They really think a 20 dollar packing blanket from Costco over their cooler and snack bag can stop me? I’m not blind, you know. With a sense of satisfaction at finally securing a true meal, Herman backed up a few feet, then a few more for good measure, and catapulted himself at the car with all the force he could muster.

THWACK. He collided with the trunk door and his snout glanced off the window.

“Ow ow ow ow ow,” he howled, rolling onto his back. As he looked up, he noticed he had attracted an audience of picture-snapping tourists. Herman sighed dejectedly. After such a blow to his pride and common sense, he decided there were better options for food. I guess it’s back to salmon, he thought despondently. I’m so sick of salmon. Does nobody realize bears like some variety too? Giving a violent shake of all his shaggy hair, Herman collected himself and trundled off down the road, concluding that while human’s creativity and innovation lacked in concealing food from bears, they made up for it in window technology skills. Although maybe I made at least a good dent or two in the bumper, he wondered to himself. Greatly cheered up by this thought, Herman continued back onto the meadow, growling happily at nobody in particular. Who knows, maybe I can actually catch a marmot today. Miracles do happen.

There's no happily ever after

No silence filled with laughter

No pain without the dagger

No void that doesn't get blacker

There's just the tears filled with fears

And the screams no one hears

So you draw on a smile

Even though you feel vile

You walk the walk

You talk the talk

But when you look in the mirror

It couldn't be clearer

The sadness inside

That you've denied

Painted in your eyes

There's no surprise

But no one else can see

All that you may be

So you wipe your tears

Disguise your fears

Illuminate your teeth

And hide all that lies beneath

“No one expects you to be perfect.”

The lies ring in my ears.

How much of this is reality?

How much of it is fears?

They all do expect the best from me.

I see it in their eyes.

All their voices call it out to me;

Compliments, needy cries.

They’re surprised when I make a mistake.

If I fail, they’re all “screwed!”

“Wait, you got this wrong?” Okay, I did!

You’re ruining my mood.

I do know it’s not intentional,

the pressure I can feel.

For it’s me who makes me feel the worst.

My flaws I must conceal.

Oh, it’s not their fault, but yet it is.

My fault is just worth more.

Yes, that sentence is true to my mind;

yet I’m doing better than before,

yet my confidence may win this war,

yet peace I may soon find.