Friday, November 24, 2017

Everything's fine.
I like my new job, I'm getting better and better.
My photograph will be featured in a magazine.
I decided to publish my poems.
Everything seems so fine.
Although it feels like I'm in the middle of the ocean. Suppressed and drowning, with my lungs full of salty water.
I watch the sunrise every day from a little bridge on my way to work. I watch the sunset, eight hours later, from the same bridge. That's how November is.
First snow, melting just before I can reach it with my fingers. Long list of tv shows waiting to catch up with. Grey's Anatomy theme playing in the background. Do you remember the times it had a theme?
And I'm just lying between my seven pillows, with a cold wind whistling through my window.
I breathe. I'm learning how to feel what's going on. I'm trying to get out of this ocean.
I'm still learning how to swim.

Weekends go by faster than I realize,
Colder than I expected and darker than the streets.
I listen to Holes by Layla on the train and Scars on Broadway on the bus. I play with my amethyst before I fall asleep to feel it's texture and it's edges.
I still scratch my old wounds, my arms, my legs, I keep scratching and scratching, I look like a little disaster.
Everything is so fine, so very fine for me.
And I haven't been so neurotic in ages.


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