It’s been a tough month. That is all.
They say give up the ghost. Don’t ruminate on what was, what is, what will always be. They say it’s not about you. You are not defined by darkness, or choices that rip you in two. They say cheer up love it might never happen. But it already did, long ago, and today, and probably tomorrow. They say it could be worse, as though that makes it ok, as if that takes the pain away.
You can paint a smile and tell a story and march on, but sometimes the world
slows down. And your words they just stop.
And the boys they felt it too, as I backed quietly out of the room
and into the smallest corner. My mind had been planning a resistance all along.
Eyes dart, heart pounds, head swims, hands shake,
muscles seize, face freeze, tears fall. Shutdown.
I find another corner in a grubby cafe. A mug of dishwater tea. Nausea and warmth.
The blue rinse brigade peer over glasses, mocking me with time. Dust through fingers.
I prepare for the waiting room. Pushing through nothingness, oceans of white noise and crackling static