Oh, Sometimes

It happens sometimes,
That itch you can’t scratch,
That anger you can’t stop,
That peace we can’t see.

It happens sometimes,
That sadness that sticks,
That hope that sleeps,
That guilt that sears.

It happens sometimes,
And I can’t control it,
And you always know it,
And we never show it.

It happens sometimes,
It stays inside,
It eats away,
It steals the day.

An Explanation

I would picture blackness
where there might be life.
A simple,
sentimental attraction
to preconceived plight.

No garden bench serene
could convince me
of such peace.
A warm heart seems obscene
because of this disease.

Please,
Spare me your judgments,
I’ve already heard it all.
A life that is so loveless,
it seems no life at all!

This truth I know.
You must see that I agree.
It’s not the life I chose,
it seems to have
chosen me.

But, if you’re really listening,
let me speak one truth that’s missing.
Pretending makes existing
all the more
constricting.

So stay,
and hear the echoed sorrow.
One day,
perhaps even tomorrow,
I’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay.

Field Notes

It’s a mind-body connection problem. The PTSD

of a life-threatening addiction. The weight

of a depressive condition. The prison

of insanity. We have to face the truth

We have to find direction.

Having a reference point is helpful but,

it kills the romance. Sanity as a goal, a place; it’s

quite the commitment. Really kills the moment.

It simply orders, “This way to good, this way to right.”

And so we cling to our petty rebellions,

our egos and our lust. Eyeballing the fantasy

of healing and growth, while not having the courage

to ask it on a date. Too scared to fall in love.

Too weak to love ourselves.

So, the balance tips, the chest deflates.

Virtues decay.

And we’re left sitting, anxious.

Alone.