Been there, done that. So many times. You?
She takes the large dish in hand
rinsing it well before feeding it to the dishwasher,
noticing the stains in the sink.
With care and with rubber gloves,
she bleaches the darkness out of existence,
being careful not to inhale the fumes.
Next, all the messes, in every room
awaiting her professional touch,
laundry, toilets, floors and more.
It’s important to have it all in order,
she tells herself, a function of stability.
A calm exterior belies the mess inside.
She’s become the facilitator of happiness,
taking care of everyone else’s this and that
of expectations, a role of dependability.
What does it get her beyond the praise
left unspoken far too often
in the doing and undoing in the messes of others?
It’s been said “Cleanliness is next to godliness,”
also “Cleanliness becomes more important when godliness is unlikely,”
Nice sentiments. She just wants to be whole.
Too many times, she gave away too much of herself,
so that there’s nothing left, now that they have left her.
She’s running on repetition and it’s all that she knows.
Very powerful read especially if you know people who suffer from anxiety or have dealt with it yourself. It’s certainly a complicated relationship.
this feeling is something that my words can’t describe,
but I hide them in between every phrases and sentences,
you make my pity heart carry loads of unknown pain,
it beats fast and faster, overworking most of the times.
you are like an anchor,
who holds me tight from moving
you keep dragging me down and down
what falls along with me?
your voice is very loud and puts off my feelings or aggravates it to higher levels,
when people enjoy the tour in train
you make me think what if the train crashes as in the movies,
when they rehearse their speech,
I spend time washing my sweaty hands,
they give me names:
overthinker, disturbed, distressed and so on…
you made my nights longer and deeper,
our love was a game of Jenga;
we are independent, but together we lead to many things.
you’re not a…
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already exhausted upon awakening
the day begins anew
while the brain is slow
the body is even slower
what weighs me down
isn’t easily lifted
for my body and soul
took a deep hit
just trying to stay afloat for now
living is on hold
when the dark veil has lifted
and the heart is healed
i’ll arise more determined
with hope in my eyes
I am so pleased that Senior Editors Candice Louisa Daquin and Kindra M. Austin, and Editor-in-Chief Christine E. Ray have accepted three of my pieces for this amazing Anthology! I submitted Downpour, Ennui, and Going Down hoping I adequately captured what they were looking for and they did! What a wonderful feeling!
This anthology is a collection of pieces which describe the experiences of “those who are living, or have struggled, with mental illness such as mood disorders, anxiety disorders, eating disorders, personality disorders, post-traumatic stress disorder, or psychotic disorders.” My experiences, and observations of others, with anxiety and depression over the years were the inspiration for pieces I wrote.
Indie Blu(e) Publishing has produced so many other noteworthy anthologies and publications. They feature many strong voices and talent. I highly recommend you check them out for yourself. The two books below also contain several pieces of mine.
I will keep you posted when the anthology is published sometime in the Spring of 2021!
like a candle melting
hot little piecemeal pontifications
emerge from between the edge of lips
they’ll singe and sting for a bit
one utterance forward and two psychosis’ back
to a place where anxiety takes the reigns again
add in a bit of depression
where the blackness overrides the chaos
sleep becoming a refuge
like a candle doused
this flame inside extinguished
a life rising up as dead-smelling smoke
my essence hidden
in the shadows within me
i dare not expose
my life’s flow is interrupted
as depression, the heavy chain
drapes me to slow and weigh me down
the black raven caws
will i ever mend
as i circle the drain
calling your name
in this shallow grave
i hear the chime to rebound
but awakening is like wispy lace
no strength and no trace of me here
as i vote silently to remain hidden in tears
We were trapped now. The stash of toilet paper I had on hand would get us through for a bit. Eventually, we’d need to venture out, walk amongst others as if in a maze to avoid them. What has this great land become? The social media chatter says everything is a wreck. The last thing heard, “It’s a democratic hoax!” Oh, crawl back from under the rock from which you came! I wish I were armed, and he right in front of me. But instead, I proceeded to saw off my arm, which held my phone: crazy times, crazy measures.