Tag Archives: emotional

Poems from My Week (3/31)

i’ve been having trouble getting my thoughts together in one piece this week. so this week’s poems are structured a little differently to accommodate

I’ve learned that you need to be straightforward and honest.
Say what really happened, because otherwise you’ll forget what you were lying about, and it’ll slip out.
It’s less work for you in the long run, if you think of it that way.
Which is how I think of most things.
Like why I still go to church, and won’t tell my parents I don’t really believe.
It’s less work for me in the long run. Less to deal with.
My mom can make her own assumptions, but this way it doesn’t come between us. And it isn’t a thing.

I felt like I was a guinea pig, being used to see how a process would work, it’s not a good feeling, being a product. It’s really not.
It might make more money. But it makes me sad.
Because I don’t feel like me, I feel like I’ve reacted a certain way based on the circumstances you’ve place around me.
Unnatural. Forced.
There’s nothing I hate more than being told to feel something.

I understand now.
Why people bring little bits of things along with them.
It’s so something looks familiar.
It’s so unsettling. To have nothing you’re sure of. Nothing you already know.
When you know how it breaks, cracks, falls
It’s less to think about. You know how the bugs move.

I went to a funeral today, for a women whose kids were taken away.
She drank herself to death.
4th this year. In a town this size.
This place has a nice tradition. They wear the dead person’s favorite team’s jerseys to the funeral. I like that. I think if I died a few people would show up and wear some Colts stuff. It would mean a little bit of something to me. That’s some sense of community then.
Everyday I feel like a belong a little more, when I meet someone and think they would come to my funeral.
It’s like high school all over again.

I have so much trouble going to places where I’m supposed to feel a certain way.
I want to sit in the back and crack jokes, and be inappropriate.
I can do it at home, no consequences. I’m an asshole.
But here, everything is noticed, and it doesn’t work nearly as well.
And I haven’t found anyone to let my guard down against.
I have little hope I’ll find someone, who’ll let me be.

I’m so upset right now.
Why am I upset, the counselor in my head asks?
I’m upset because it is the final day on my contract,
And I had a final call with my supervisor.
This is the job I quit when I moved up here.
And she was rude.
She blamed me for not doing something I did.
I’m so angry.
Well, here’s what happened.
We scheduled a call for 9:30 a.m. EST
That means, 5:30 a.m. my time. I woke up early specially.
The guy who was supposed to be on the call never showed.
So instead we went over things that might need to happen.
There are two things to be sent for review.
During the one time I got to talk last call, she must have zoned out.
I am unlistened to. That’s frustrating.
Because I said what she’s getting mad about me over the phone.
I said out loud what was going on with the blogs.
Not only that, I added it to a physical document, then shared the document with her in two different ways.
You have no right to be mad at me.
I’m mad that she’s mad at me.
God, I’m so glad I left.
So, so, so, glad.
Literally you can complain about me all you want to your little friend, bad-mouth up to high-heaven, I did what I was supposed to do. When I couldn’t, I got out. What more do you want from me?
Uh-oh. I’m asking the question only jerks ask.

I feel like I’m waiting for a clock to run out of time, or finish that no one else can hear. My countdown isn’t on your timer.

I think, maybe, once I’m done with this year, I’ll stay rural. Maybe not Alaska rural. But rural. I like being this far away from my family. I like it.

Anyway, I’m trying to express what’s really there, and it’s not working.
I’m trying to open up.
But, there’s something blocking, something I can’t tell you or anyone else about, and that’s hard. I think it’s stopping me. I think I’m starting to sound like a lifetime commercial.

Screw it. I’ll tell you about it.
But it’s one of those, that I really hope gets buried in this pile of regular rubbish.
I’m trying to be open and honest here, because I am no where else.
A guy my roommate, new person, only person I know, introduced me to,
Helped me look for her dog,
Went out fishing with,
Invited himself over to hang out while she wasn’t here.
Everybody drinks here. They won’t eat processed foods, but they’ll drink rubbing alcohol.
He brought a backpack full of PBR.
We dyed easter eggs.
He touched my knee.
And I said I had to ask my friend before we went farther.
That didn’t work. But it didn’t go too far.
I feel so guilty.
It took me two days to tell her he was over here.
Then she asked little questions,
And I did what I do best,
I sound like an idiot and distract.
But, oh man. He was so warm. And there seems to always be a chill here.
The man in the iron mask was playing. And we watched chuck Norris.
And I’m a terrible person. I’m so alone.

I try so hard to be cool, calm, collected.
I just mess it up every single day.
I think, oh man, this time I won’t say anything.
And then I do.
Why do I say anything.

My dad said something a little racist on the phone, and I wasn’t sure what to do.

My new roommate said something interesting, she said, I wish there was a guide, one, two, three, four steps you could take to make it better. But there’s not. Not for when your parents drink themselves to death while you’re still young, still in high school. You didn’t live with her anymore. But still.

I did something wrong again. And I don’t know what. I keep messing up.
Can I have one day I do right?
It’ll be the day I sleep for 24 hours.


Dear R.P.H. (Letter #6)

I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.

Dear R-

Maybe if I talked to you, you would be happy to hear from me. You’d be the one to reach out, instead of me. You’d go after me. And I’d feel important. And you’d have great opinions on all these things. And you’d want to hear what I have to say about it.

God, you almost made me feel valuable. Did you know that? That’s what I’ll say when we finally cross paths. I’ll say, “For a second, you made me feel valued.” But never loved. Never safe. No, safety comes from security. It comes from knowing. And I never knew. God, why didn’t you let me. I would’ve loved you if you’d have shown me a sign. Given me something.

Instead I called you out on your passive aggressive dodges and you blew me off. Your apartment looks like a 80s crack den. That was petty. I’m sorry. Not if I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry my feelings for you resulted in pettiness. I am petty. Not pretty. Petty.