It’s taken all my courage to post this today.
I’m not doing very well. I haven’t found a job. I was staying with my mother and her husband, but I couldn’t take it anymore. So I took up my sister’s offer to stay with her down south.
I can’t stop beating myself up. Because it is all my fault. I’m not working, I can’t support myself, and I feel like I don’t have anyone.
I can’t tell you how many poems and essays I’ve started and haven’t finished. Only to add it onto the pile of things I can’t do right. I can’t even post on my blog on the days I say I will.
I feel like I am wrong. Like there’s something wrong about me. And on the days it’s too hard to take, I try to just make it through, which isn’t enough to pay for food.
If I get on my feet again, I’m hoping I’ll write more.
I can only say I’m sorry. The phrase I get told not to say. The phrase I’m told I say too often. Like somehow an overabundance of apologizers will bring down the world.
I also feel fat, because I am fat. And I think the kids from my island gave me lice. Which has nothing to do with anything, but has everything to do with it all.