Redundancy

Redundancy.
I read my words
and I’m sickened,
that you had this
effect on me. I read
them and I’m fatigued
by the redundancy.
I have nothing to say
that hasn’t been said
in the same way
only reconstructed
to better play the illusion
of new ideas and
some sort of change.
There is always the basis
the substance of being
the substance being
my overactive feelings
and constant repression
of what makes me alive—
this feeds the depression
and I cry when I think
and I’m dead when I don’t
I’m lying when I speak
and lying when I don’t
I’m fighting every day
my feelings when I 
have them, and finding
every day, I have more than
I can fathom, and I can’t
always put into words
how or why I feel things
so I tend to repeat
what comes naturally
and when I reread
I am exhausted by
my own redundancy.

After so many times, you become numb to pain. Sadness. Regret. Anything, really. Anything you can feel. Even physically, nothing does it for you. If there is no mental connection, there is no message received, no sensation to feel, no new information gained other the fractured insight into your own apathy. You could be fine one day, smiling just to smile, hopeful but not unrealistic, and then before you know it you’re hit with reality’s unforgiving platter of stuff you didn’t ask for and it scars you so deep this time, burns your flesh right off, you have nothing left of yourself to put out there. Your thoughts are empty. You barely recognize your voice. All your words are distorted. Your belly has stretched. Your eyes lack luster. They droop and glisten with tears waiting to pour at any given moment or from the last drop that dripped hours ago. Asking for help is like asking to borrow a million dollars—it seems out of the question, illogical even to conjure the idea of such a large favor. Who can help anyway? Who can understand unless they themselves have repressed every feeling they felt for someone? Repressed words that held meaning in certain instances? Long, overdue words that have long been thrown out or forgotten, but what would today be like if they had ever been released into the air? If they’d ever passed these lips? If they’d ever reach the ears of they one they were meant for? Maybe it would be easier now, speaking aloud, being heard. Maybe I wouldn’t be twisted with anxiety or guilt from biting my tongue or regret. Maybe I would be stronger today and would love more fiercely and openly. Maybe I would be happier with work, with where I am in life. Maybe I would be happier at home. I can change. I have the abilities. I am fully capable, as a human being in this existence to reach my full potential. I can be the best whatever I want to be. I just have to be better. I have to smile, tell myself I’m doing my best, and do my best. It’s the most discouraging when doing my best gets me knocked back down with that platter of stuff I didn’t ask for.

In garden,
reflecting on fallen petals
separated from home
   comparing similarities
  like vibrancy turned down with
added separation anxiety;
Facing Coke machines
and guess whose name I see?
   Fucking advertising.
Half the plants are
decaying or deceased
browning their tips as if not
watered in weeks,
or have indulged too much
from the heavy rain
hosing down everything
until the clouds float away
  rolling til dusk before
night relieves day

For You

versatile-nightowl:

I will pour myself
like coffee in your morning cup
and tickle your nose
with my greeting aroma
I will wisp my steam
through your nasal passages
stimulating your system
of sluggish nerves
I will listen to you,
  my favorite song,
keeping beat with my heart,
harmonizing with your hum,
lulling me to sweet oblivion
I will forgive you
as one forgives oneself
because we are human,
vulnerable and feckless
  lonely and restless;
I will lay beside you
all season until sunrise
when light peeks through shade
and fire burns in our eyes
I will fall deep down
the well in your iris
and find myself inside
  guiding us both
towards essential growth,
to intertangle like vines

For You

I will pour myself
like coffee in your morning cup
and tickle your nose
with my greeting aroma
I will wisp my steam
through your nasal passages
stimulating your system
of sluggish nerves
I will listen to you,
  my favorite song,
keeping beat with my heart,
harmonizing with your hum,
lulling me to sweet oblivion
I will forgive you
as one forgives oneself
because we are human,
vulnerable and feckless
  lonely and restless;
I will lay beside you
all season until sunrise
when light peeks through shade
and fire burns in our eyes
I will fall deep down
the well in your iris
and find myself inside
  guiding us both
towards essential growth,
to intertangle like vines