muscles unused

I no longer keep a journal.
On paper the words became too powerful
...and yet not powerful enough to express the roiling chaos,
because I did not want to deal with
those feelings.

And now I have less of a choice.
Or rather my choices come down to acceptance
of eating glass,
Or melting that glass and blowing a goblet for holding key limes.

But the paper is insecure.

This electronic medium, though less stable, reflects my instability.

I will try.

Here.

juxtaposed

a new month

where is the anticipation?

-a new slate to write on-

instead, the creeping dread

more time spent here

mime in transition

today i go through the motions

hoping

that eventually

the lie will become the truth

anatomy

my heart hurts

mythical organ that is the seat of emotion

actual organ that does no more than move blood

i don't know

my chest, under my ribs, is full of pain

my eyes, full of tears

back forth

he says "i'm tired of being a parent."

she says "i'm tired of being a second wife and a step mom."

he means that being responsible is a hard job.

she means that not being first choice is a hard job.

whiplash

that sudden change in direction

no time to adjust

and now i drink myself to sleep.

post-party letdown

i keep finding pieces of myself

and since i have no place to put them

i throw them in the trash.