Tag poetry

4 posts

Those People

I’m becoming one of Those People
Who has multiple bikes for different reasons
One for travel and one for getting around town
I’m one of those people who feels a little twinge of guilt at the luxury
of being able to save enough to buy two bikes when I only need one.

I’m becoming one of Those People
With a detailed list of current and future backpacking gear
That can be sorted by weight and type
One of those people who finds living in the elements
a relaxing escape from the default world chaos.

I’m one of Those People
Who instinctively says yes to adventuring
And dives head first into the unknown
One of those people who is familiar with uncertainty
and comfortable learning the details as they go.

I’m one of Those People
Who is caught halfway between crippling perfectionism
And an empty garden of fucks
One of those people who dabbles in every kind of art
and masters a few.

I’m one of Those People
Who chose their own family
And created their own name
One of those people who has recreated themselves in their own image
more times than they can count.

I’m one of Those People
Who sometimes can’t get out of bed
Because depression and anxiety are too loud
One of those people who tries to prioritize selfcare
but still falls short frequently.

I’m one of Those People
Whose undiagnosed chronic illness
Undermines their ability
One of those people who tries to make plans and then has to cancel
because their body decided to quit.

I’m one of Those People
Who sometimes tries to ignore their disability
As if that makes it vanish (it doesn’t)
One of those people who has relied so much on themselves
that accepting help is scary.

I’m one of Those adventurist, artistic, outdoorsy (but not athletic, let’s not kid ourselves), queer, sick, disabled People who worries about the future of the planet.

I’m one of “Those People” probably not unlike you.

-5 to all stats

28 days
or so they say
my body disconnects from me
I feel as though
my entire being turns into
my enemy
I lose focus
I lose movement
I lose the ability to sleep peacefully
my body seems to plot
to take this opportunity
to stick it to me
“Fuck you!”
it seems to yell at my existence
gleefully plotting my demise
While I just sit here and writhe
hoping that the alternation
of ibuprofen and tylenol
is enough to warrant a few hours
of relief
it’s personal, you see
this struggle between my body
and me
I wait
helpless
and this is normal for me

Because of What It Means (and the story I'm afraid to draw)

I.
red stain on pink
in a tree
in the summer
doing homework
pointing
everyone knew
everyone noticed
everyone but her
embarrassed she ran
terrified
stained
ashamed
not just because the publicity of the moment
because of everything it meant
everything she hoped to avoid
adults were proud
kids were worried
she didn’t even know what she was feeling
horror
shame
pain
sadness
resolve
II.
internalized anger
internalized hate
over something uncontrollable
Because of everything it means
to be fully grown
because of abilities
responsibilities
more things to be afraid of
pain
rage
depression
okay
the cycle goes on
muted for years
in the toxicity of existence
internalized
III.
Later recognized
as symptoms became worse
discovering the root of the cause
so many roots
a tangled web
of reasons and fears
pain is more intense
rage is more explosive
depression doesn’t end
internalizing results in fantasy
mutilation
would solve the problem
eliminate the ability completely
or so it feels
but she knows it wouldn’t solve anything
though the thought comforts
the intensity
the desire
to end it all
the fear
the potential
the pain
the shame because of what it means
IV.
It’s a love-hate
One day late means panic
Antidepressants keep the urge to plunge knives into the abdomen in a distant land
pain is on the verge of tolerable
there’s less shame
still fear
paranoia keeps her safe
or so she feels
she hates the symptoms
she hates the result
she hates the discomfort and the pain
but at the same time
the consistency is what keeps her
from panicking
one day late and it’s panic
talking down into reason
because stress effects everything
because of what it means

In which I write (really bad) poetry

Empath

I believe in empaths and telepaths – like the ones you see on star trek.
I believe that energy connects everyone, regardless of our awareness.
I feel energy from people I don’t know,
I feel the energy of arguments that aren’t even heated.
I feel the sads of people trying to communicate and making mistakes. I feel all of the things without ever knowing them.
I feel things stronger from people I know.
I am surrounded by feels
most of them aren’t even mine.
It gets to the point where I can’t tell
where mine end and theirs begin.
I internalize and never expel.
The more aware I am, the more sensitive I become.
I feel weak.
but
I wouldn’t trade this
for the world.
Even if they never know.

Too much