Does the crack in your heart ache?
Did you let it safely heal,
or did you pick at the scab?
I couldn’t offer you a tissue,
or a band-aid,
without cutting my own hands.
These pale, shaky hands that strain when writing
Fingers crossed with a hopeful mind
Nails digging in my palms
Scarred flesh from all the countless times,
I have gathered up sharp, broken pieces of people
Supporting their collapsing structure as I bled
Fragments of glass hearts shattered in my eyes
Piles of broken bones creating a grave for not one,
I used to be a kind captain,
trusting the sea to guide me home
But now that I know the restlessness of waves,
and unpredictable change in the currents
I refuse to go down with the ship,
becoming a smashed seascape in the coral-
only to be remembered in National Geographic,
when they have underwater shipwreck features.
I apologize my timing was off,
and it was you who found yourself caught-
in the chaotic changing of guards around my heart
But I was exhausted and worn from being
stuck in the snowy winter with you;
I need to defrost
I need to save my own soul at sea
I need to stitch the cuts from your edges
And it’s impossible to heal the broken,
when you aren’t even whole yourself
AH. I have no inspiration to write lately, but I know I need to. So here’s a rant entry.
Reading the news depresses me. Even more so, our state of affairs with other countries depresses me even more. I don’t want to be associated with a country that is seen as racist, bigoted, unfair, unjust, sexist, agist, and just ugly in general.
I saw the headline to an article stating that “illegal immigration is surging due to the US’s demand for Mexico’s drugs”. Exactly, look at the latter part of that statement. WHY are we focusing on immigration when we aren’t even focusing on our drug issues? As an addict, I can say I was born an addict. I chose, in a way, to be an addict. A Hispanic drug lord didn’t force me to start using heroin; I ordered it online with no idea of the race, creed or origin of the dealer (thanks modern technology for making my vices more accessible).
So often I hear the blame shift to the Mexican border, immigrants and their home as the cause of Americas drug crisis. It’s sick, twisted and unfair. They are going by, if anything, supply and demand to make ends meet. Just like we all are, they are finding means to make money. To support their family, their house, their own drug habit- who knows. The point is: what our neighboring country brings into our states is not the issue. Because if we didn’t have drug addictions, we would stop needing to buy said drugs. We are creating our own issues and not taking the blame. EXTRA POINT: we are the ones making Big Pharma dish out pain medication like candy which then leads to street drugs usually, in those with addict genes.
My stomach feels somewhat unsettled. Similarly to the feeling on gets from seeing grey rain clouds from afar as you drive through the sun. You aren’t to the cold, dark place you are headed yet- but you know it’s there and you know it’s coming.
This is what anxiety feels like.
It feels like beads of sweat that sting your skin because every part of your being hurts. It hurts to breathe, hurts to move, hurts to think. And how can you begin to plan where to make the next move, or how to plan your safe route, if you can’t even untangle the map provided. Pages stick together, roads and rivers are smudged, and there are tears in the corner.
So you channel your inner “carpe diem” and use shortcuts the passenger is yelling over the ear-straining music. Life is really just a crazy road trip, with no sense of direction.
Being that way, I’m left at the infamous crossroads of life- enjoy the ride or stall the trip. I still don’t exactly know how to get past this stubborn fork in my path.