To be afraid of.....
I fear of being lonely,
I fear of being crowded,
Yet I’m too lonely,
And yet I’m too crowded.
I fear of being silent,
I fear of being violent,
Yet I’m too silent,
And yet I’m too violent.
I fear of death
And I fear of life,
B’cuz both are just promises,
Made by us.
Everyday I dream about them,
When I sleep at night,
About when I will lose all hope,
And when I will lose my love.
Failure and Breakage
I suppose we all have our fears
Things that would drive us to tears
Like the sight of rats, or enclosed spaces
Thinking of being caught in these places
These situations holding us captive until we break
As a writer, I fear losing my senses
Losing my sight, falling in trenches
Losing my smell, unable to sniff in the scent of a sweet pea
Losing my hearing; no more music or the rolling waves of the sea
Losing my taste, no more dark chocolate, no more enjoying good food
Losing my touch...unable to appreciate textures, fine or coarse, bad or good
More than all that, though,
I fear always being my own foe
I fear losing my voice and heart to my head
As realism leads me on to become part of the walking dead
As I leave my dreams to follow other people's wishes and views for and of me
I'm afraid of being the reason why I fail
Of being stuck in my own jail
And I'm afraid of being the reason someone else might falter and fall
As they follow their heart and that special call
Maybe I'm that special something to them...and I end up breaking them...
Seconds to Minutes to Hours and Days and Years to Right Now
Looking back on a reckless life,
both shot and stabbed,
hit by a car,
fallen from a third-story window,
bones mending slowly,
feeling life will be as twisted
as the bones and muscle housed by flesh.
But that isn’t what I fear now.
Two marriages, no children of my own.
Sadly, always wanted to be a father;
One marriage good,
the other, hell incarnate.
Batting 50/50, not so bad.
Single now, happy, content,
at least I think so.
But none of that I fear now.
Decade after decade rolled by.
you think you will live forever.
you laugh at the things said at twenty.
All that in the middle are lessons learned.
Age is what it is;
we are all born to age,
so death is commonplace;
None of this I fear.
What do I fear?
it was my heart attack and five surgeries,
if I could walk away
from an antiseptic room on my own,
but when I finally did,
the fear was gone,
for it was not yet my time,
and it made me appreciate
what life brings us.
Now the story unfolds,
and call this a silly fear;
but it could happen, can happen,
and somewhere it did happen.
My greatest fear is to lose two things:
and the hands I use,
to put the words of my imagination to paper.
I have been through much, and survived.
To lose those two things,
is a battle I could never win.
(The photograph is me on my first birthday. I chose this as a connection of the first
and last word of this title. Looking back, even then I had a look
of a person unafraid to question anything.)
The Two Most Terrifying Things
All it takes is one mistake for everything to come toppling down like a shattered mirror. Some say that means seven years of bad luck, but it’s more like a lifetime of horror.
Am I imagining every eye is turning towards me with disappointment and judgement? Yes, but I can not comprehend that in my state of mind. They are all staring at me, silently judging me, and knowing they will never like me. The word will spread, and my future will be doomed.
If my mistake is in class, I know my grades and self esteem will topple. I won’t be recognized by a single person on the face of the planet. The one mistake causes a domino effect. My mistake prevents a college education, and a good job. I would live on the streets, or in my parents basement, if I’m lucky.
For a mistake at home, I would be grounded and punished harshly, no less than what I deserve. Without access to electronics, my friends would believe I was ignoring them. They would give up on me! So, I would be lonely and friendless, and it would be my fault yet again. All my friends would be right to drop me.
Whenever someone comforts me, I know it’s just because they are a kind soul who pities me. I am so grateful for their goodness, but I try to get away so I don’t ruin their life like I so carelessly ruined mine. Yet, my righteous flee or remark backfires due to my emotional obliviousness, and I hurt the mazing person.
I must hide away from all this. So, I run, I flee into some distraction. Usually a fictional world, or poetry to convey my emotions. That is when I realize, I am good, I am fine, and I might need to apologize.
Yet, I can never realize it sooner. I am overwhelmed by the terror of my two greatest fears, failure and hurting others.
Silence. I sleep with the television on just to drown out the thoughts in my head. All the the thoughts I don't want to remember. I'm not affraid of death, and while I used to be terrrified of people, I am no loger frightened by years of abuse. But the thought of being alone with my thoughts is enough to make me burst into tears.
My husband makes fun of me. I constantly have head phones in. I am constantly listening to something. I stay busy. Podcasts, music, anime, and if that isn't available I talk to my cats... or my walls. The silence will send me into a catatonic fear based panic attack that sucks the life from my body.
I used to be afraid of normal things. Clowns, heights, snakes, death. But now the silence is the only stalker I'm truely affraid of. Last time I didn't fill the silence my wrists didn't make it out so well. The silence brings out that destructive, angry, hurt person that I no longe want to be. All the things that I have supressed, greet me like an old friend in the silence. I have to stay busy. I have to have chaos. I have to have noise, before the silence gobbles me up, and doesn't spit me back out.
My Biggest fear is dying as an old man. Alone. Forgotten. Broken. Full of regret.
singing to the choir
my words an echo
in a soundless chamber
that rejects my attempts
to have my life matter
becoming a martyr
for no other reason
than to make it
as a writer
Loss and Avalanches
I'm not afraid of my own death. The emptiness, the absence of being, the incomprehensible nothingness—it's all a frightening matter, but I can't say I'm terribly bothered by it. Perhaps I don't fully understand my own mortality, but I'd wager that none of us truly do. One day, I will die, and that will be it.
No, I'm not afraid of my own death, but I am afraid of losing the people I love. I'm afraid of existing in a world without those close to me. It's a seeping fear, one that finds its way into every crevice of my consciousness, one that infuses my mind with general nervousness and my heart with general sorrow. I'm constantly reminded of the fragility of existence, I'm always afraid that a loved one will die in some tragic accident, that they'll be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wrong place, wrong time. I couldn't prevent that sort of death, which scares me, which terrifies me. I don't want to be alone.
I'm not afraid of my own death, but I am afraid of dying in an avalanche. Dying inside a mine is a close second, but nothing tangible can outweigh the horror of snow like concrete, of snow like boulders. Even worse would be to die from asphyxiation; once the snow settles, it settles like cement, and the warm air you exhale melts a little bubble around your head, and then it freezes again, and then you die, you die just like that. Horrible. Horrifying. In middle school science, we spent some time discussing avalanche safety. It's funny, maybe, a part of the quirky and unique small mountain town educational experience, but the truth is that every single person knew at least two others who died in an avalanche. Often more.
I'm afraid of losing the people I love and I'm afraid of dying in an avalanche. These fears don't define me, I don't let them define me, but they do haunt me nonetheless. They shadow my footsteps nonetheless. I wish I could turn on a light to drive them out.
I struggle, yet I get by.
My mental health
brings me down.
Further and further down.
The depression takes over,
I sit in the dark.
I lock my mind in the dark,
While my physical body moves.
I can’t get out of it,
Work takes over.
If I don’t work,
Everything drifts away.
I can’t lose it all.
The fake smile shines,
While no one knows.
Yet one person knows.
He has always known.
He has always wanted
To take control.
If he gets his way,
I’ll be locked up.
I will lose more
than everything I fear.
I will lose my life.
I will be committed.
I will lose all life choices.
They will lock me up.
Would they ever let me out?
Would I be stuck there forever?
I’m not crazy,
He can’t do it,
He can’t lock me up.
Not in that place,
Not like that.
The Wave-- 9/18/18
I remember when waves were a physical element outside of my body.
I used to watch them on the banks of North Carolina every summer as a child.
I used to play tag with them
hiding my toes in wet sand
before they “caught” me.
Crashing into my feet,
yelling in the way only a wave can.
Now I am 25
And there are new waves that haunt my mind.
These waves of bad choices.
These waves of thoughts
only to recede again to god knows where.
But it’s not like it was when I was a girl.
No, this time the “I got you” is MY voice.
And the kissing of feet, not so biblical.
Rather the whooshing I hear originates in my brain
and the wave starts with a dangerous idea.
“Remember you don’t matter anyway.
So giving yourself to men who don’t care for you,
won’t hurt you or anyone else”
How many times have I thought this?
The wave gets bigger.
The whooshing louder.
And I am the wave.
I never thought I could be dead while breathing.
But my water soaked mind, drowned in regret says otherwise.
I remember when waves were outside my body,
on the banks of North Carolina.
I remember so much and nothing at all.
And I choke on my own wave.
“It won’t hurt me. It is me!” I scream.
And I am death in water.
The wave I’ve feared
the least and the most all at once.
I embrace the coming wave,
my words whispering in my ear as
“Remember, you don’t matter anyway…”