Hypochondria

My name is hypochondria,

And I swear,
that my clammy hands,
and my palpitating heart,
are clear signs
that my heart is stopping.
And my closing throat,
and my want for sleep,
is alerting me
to some kind of cancer,
growing, and spreading.

The more I sit here,
the more ailments I count,
and the more I worry,
the more my worrying sickens me.
I live in a circle,
only every once and a while,
where I'm afraid of my fears.
And it's only when
I realize that I'm fine,
that I am free.

Vultures

In this brain
with its rights
and lefts
I am circling
looking
and searching
for one way out.
I come back
to the same ruins
over and over
hovering around
all my losses,
failures, and mistakes.
A shameful reminder,
a torture I bring upon myself,
yet I can't stop.
I yearn for escape,
but it's my own fixation
that traps me.
How I long to break
all these things
that hold me
to these messy,
overwhelming,
smouldering, piles
of reminders.

How I long for selective memory.

Red Ribbon

His eyes are dull
like the skies
after the sun hides,
and this isn't the first time
he's tripped over
the reasons,
the seasons,
and the treason.
But this time,
he can't point his finger
at any other traitor
but himself.

Her hands are dry
like a parched land
after a long drought,
and this is the last time
she'll overlook
the reasons,
the seasons,
and the treason.
There is no time
for blind eyes
and the only blind one
has been herself.

Oh, the dangers that arise from being imperfect in love.

Pearls to the Swine

This is a poem I wrote almost a year ago. I wanted to post it not because it reflects where I'm at right now, but because it reminds me of where I was. Enjoy. 


It's not that I don't listen, 
Or that I don't respect what you have to say, 
It's just that I'm so set in my ways,
Predisposed to disobey, 
When obedience would save me so much heart ache. 
And it's not that I don't seek your voice, 
Because all I want is to hear you, 
It's just that I've been lied to for so long, 
That I often forget what the truth sounds like. 
Beaten back, left for dead, sink or swim, 
I've lived, fighting to find you, 
And now that I have, I feel more lost and before. 
I can talk about the darkest things I've seen, 
With a perfectly straight face, 
I can pretend to be vulnerable, 
When the walls are only getting higher. 
Yet I can praise you for it all, 
Even when I feel like walking away. 
And at the end of the day, 
When I can hear you over everything else, 
I realize that all this time, 
I've been throwing my pearls to the swine. 
You deserve better than that, 
Much, much better. 

Davy Jones

Reconciling you
with the you you used to be
has become my only task.
My heart fills to the brim
with confusion, with thoughts
and my eyes see what they want
and my ears hear what they need to,
while my heart feels
everything, simultaneously.
My mouth doesn't want to talk
my mind doesn't want to think,
and my heart doesn't want to feel.

Yet I harbour this ship,
constantly sitting in my port,
carrying everything I've had,
along with everything I've lost,
with no hope of leaving,
but yet it's never really here.
A captain who can't decide
and I, as uncertain as the tide,
unable to hide the emotions
from our sea-worn faces.
We are drifting here,
through storm and calm,
just drifting here.

We have no other choice.

62 .4 .8

We love
like we have to,
rather than chose to,
with obligation
lacing our seemingly
good intentions.
And we love
like we know
what it means to love,
like we penned
the term and definition
ourselves.
We love
with greedy hearts
that look selfless,
and we wander,
looking for gain,
rather than for good.
And we love
by what we say
and what we do
and feel it
in what we hear
and what we get.
We love
as if we know
what it means,
and as if it's enough,
but we forget that love,
is not a word or a feeling.

He's the Creator of Heaven and Earth.

Lite-Brite

Carefully I spoke
as if my words
were like weapons,
each syllable acting
as a gun or a knife,
until I quietly resolved
to remain silent.
Hurting you,
would be unthinkable,
unforgivable,
and my little heart,
and my sad eyes,
couldn't bear to see it.
I wish so much
to speak to you
words of love,
and unshakeable truth,
but with depravity
slipping down my tongue,
and falling from my lips,
I fail.

Oh how I wish,
that all my words were bright.

Welcome

"Welcome home"

echoes in my ears 

as our car pulls in

to the snow-dusted driveway. 

And the stars are uncovered, 

because the clouds are away, 

and it's with tired eyes

that I behold them. 

My feet are wet 

from all the slush, 

and I regret wearing summer shoes 

in the middle of February. 

But what matters most

as I walk through the garage 

is that I am here, 

and the miles separate. 

I am welcomed home, 

by what is known 

and by what is old 

nothing new, 

nothing has changed, 

and in this season 

where nothing is constant, 

"home" is what I need. 

Maybe I'll smile.