I always knew…
“Home” was a concept.
A prompt for activating
our programmed roles;
encouraging participation
in self-fulfilling prophecies (of doom).
Leaving me homesick
for a dream I’ve never dreamt.
Home.
Home is now known to me-
Known to be a feeling-
An intangible worry stone,
Now carried with me-
At all times;
Anchored by plasmic goo.
I’ve already began the process
Of grieving the products of my own imagination.
Recently implemented new rules of engagement;
Limiting all talks with friends,
all of them.
To under 5 minute long interactions.
Unless they’re my exes…
I figure I’ve dibs.
(I know! I knoooow.)
I know it makes me selfish;
Realizing more each day-
I want to be “chosen”
I NEED to be “chosen”
whatever that means…
I think I always have.
Reflecting on all the times
Situations…
I felt I needed to be…
Should have been…
Chosen…
by anyone-
Chosen…
over others;
over addictions
Chosen for me
Who I am
Not what I could be.
Not what I could provide.
Services I could render.
What I could become.
Just the real and authentic me.
Most only saw the mes
making the choices…
To leave
To make them
Sooner…
Later…
My choice.
I thought you loved me.
Today I just feel stupid-
“Why I sleep alone.”
I found myself there-
In that place, once again.
The cavernous mermaid lagoon;
a familiar yet frightening place; bound.
It was curious really-
Realizing where I’d arrived.
When by consciously avoiding-
My unintentional destination found.
Only for a brief moment yielding-
Like Yeats’ siren:
In cruel happiness I’d forgotten-
That even lovers drown.
Used to be…
I’d come across them-
Confetti strewn caches-
drawers of forgotten notes…
I felt sad, and missed them.
Question everything.
Then it changed…
I’d find them and realize-
I don’t know the writer-
Ghostwritten manifestos of complacency…
I’d feel disgust, and miss me.
Question everything.
Today I found more…
I read them and noted-
It really was a version of me-
Just a me adapted to them…
I feel nothing, and am missing nothing.
Question everything.
Have you ever written out timelines of your own life?
First by years then by months-
Sometimes even “best guessed weeks”?
Did the subcategories become laborious and deserving of a separate time line?
No?
I met someone who had lived in the same house,
Their entire lives.
From birth.
I bet they never put something in their bedroom…
Then later have to recall which bedroom…
Then tear apart another room to find it,
swearing it was there, once.
Hmmm.
Did you live in the same house for years?
Have you lived in less than 5?
What’s your memory like?
Is it chronologically fractured?
Do you use music or scent or season to place you; or
What you were wearing-
because somehow that is easier to recall?
When you think back over your life, is it like a whole movie?
Or is it like thousands of movie scenes squished into a 27 x 40 poster?
Do you have to cross reference your life against journals?
Poetry books?
Partners?
Jobs?
PASSWORDS?
No?
Huh.
Do you spend time analyzing, retroactively, like a cold case detective…
Maybe leaning a little tinfoil hat looking for “the conspiracy root?”
Yeah, that would be crazy. Whoa.
Ok ok- what about looking, in hindsight for curiosity sake;
for the things you missed, you know, back then?
No?
What about considering other timelines- multiverses and sequels-
A director’s cut or potential alternate endings?
Still no?
Huh.
Me either.
Lately I’ve been “nesting.”
Chasing serotonin and conviction- reclaiming my own curtilage.
And yet, entertaining;
Fellini-esque fantasies.
While balancing the romantic…
with the absurd.
Still, fantasies indeed are dangerous things.
Particularly;
when one feels unchallenged or complacent…
It’s easy to believe that things mean more-
Connections or kismet or fated-
too often just a novel distraction
They would soon grow bored of…
He gave her his heart,
she gave him a pen.
Is it ever real?
Too often oxytocin fueled.
And hypervigilance gives way
To resolute avoidance and/or
The altruistic conundrum-
there is no unselfish deed…
And like she said, “perhaps…”
I’ve already had my chance for that type of happiness.
Nonetheless, a growth mindset.
Endeavor to be present.
Stay the course.
Self actualize myself.
Alone is not so bad.
Lonely is much worse.
Photo from: www.shopstudiosisters.com
And it comes to pass,
With time and understanding-
The “reconciliation”
Of cause, and effect;
Actions… reactions.
The interplay…
The neuropathways.
And you’re standing alone-
In your room
By yourself
AND LAUGH
BELLYLAUGH
Catching your reflections-
Just fleetingly seen-
Your “SUPERMANPETERPANHYBRID” pose.
Then you begin to wonder.
Ponder why you never noticed-
Why you never could.
Until right now.
I’m still waiting to not miss you-
It’s been months since you’ve been gone
(…Maybe even years)
I don’t miss the days of silence-
It’s so quiet and still, less alone
(… Much less frequent tears)
You’re still in nearly all my dreams-
You’ve become some sort of archetype
(… Mostly for my fears)
You cross my mind I feel gut punched-
You affect me still in this way
(… Memories trigger gears)
I haven’t even had a kiss-
I try to put myself out there
(… Move away when it nears)
Did I dream or did I wake-
Daily wake up in a foggy panic
(… Mad at me when it clears)
And yet- I’m waiting to not miss you-
There’s a ghost in my house;
But I think I haunt myself.
I wake up with my hand on a pillow-
And for a moment, it’s your back.
I hear you say my name
When I’m half asleep.
But then I remember you’re not here…
Because I asked you to go
And you went…
Because you love me.
Everything out here has changed…
But everything inside me is the same.
A problem always takes two-
Mayhapst the catalyst wasn’t you.
Perhaps it’s me that should go.
Sometimes I’m not really sure what the fuck I’m getting out of this.
I spend a lot of time- up in my head- trying to determine the motives why I stay here:
How much I put in vs
How much they take out;
What I’m learning vs
What’s becoming bad habits.
What’s mine to own?
What’s theirs to own up to?
Who’s accountable?
50-50?
Sigh. I’ve stopped the cycle by putting lipstick on a pig.
I see it now-
Why you couldn’t love me:
The things I overdid.
The things I should not have done.
Like the pie-
What I saw as a romantic gesture:
A few weeks too soon.
Questioning my motives.
Strange continued reflections-
That at this point should be moot:
Seemingly irrelevant.
Strawberry Rhubarb learnin.
I never should have made you a pie
Working in hospice is a trip. Some days are really hard and I’m thankful to have coworkers and some friends who get it.
Death is an ever looming presence in this job and sometimes when a patient dies it hits like a gut punch.
Most people don’t get it, the typical response is “well they were on hospice so it wasn’t unexpected so why are you feeling ___________?”
Well yes, they WERE on hospice.
But also, NO….
I’m one of these lucky social workers who have quite a vivid imagination and this works to my advantage and disadvantage. While I can empathize with the patients or their families because I can try to imagine what they’re going thru (to the best of my ability) but unfortunately when they pass, I can also rabbit hole on that experience as well. We don’t always KNOW and when someone is alone at that moment, we never know. Was it quick? Was it painful? Were they scared? Particularly right now when it is hard to see patients in homes and facilities, as a social worker or a chaplain. Sure- there’s some ways around it if things are “imminent” but you don’t always know. Sometimes it’s more rapid than anticipated or a complete surprise. I think about it too much for my own good, probably. It goes downhill from there and snowballs, but I personally take solace in the fact that I still care this much. But not with all patients. Not that I don’t care for them all, but I’m sure there’s some projection, transference, something that makes some harder than others. Maybe it has to do with how long you work with someone. Maybe they remind you of someone: consciously or subconsciously, or they represent something or someone we fear or worry about. Lots of possibilities. Maybe it simply has to do with my control issues. My version of denial of my own mortality. I’m not sure really. But regardless, some days, some patients, some deaths, hit harder and last longer than others.
Keep doing the good work. That’s all we can do.
All the things shed-
to make way for new beginnings:
replaced by ectothermic forces
reflection no longer representative
of the self recognized by Id-
ego
ego
ego
STOP.
Increasingly lighter,
more wrinkled;
mortal coil bound.
long life lived
experiences groomed
patterns repeated
for the chance to repair-
the choice to revisit-
the future of a soul
in need of trauma repair-
control dramas
daddy issues
abandonment
fear
and love
Shame overwhelms
influencing choices
like mercury retrograde
making all communication
futile; yet needed.
spiral spiral spiral
STOP.
who do we see when we look?
cracked and distorted
visions intuited
through a looking glass, darkly.
How did it happen-
the only one alone here;
Me. Again. Of course.
Walking the damn line-
Praying for spiritual strength
And fast Benedryl.
From one Pisces fish to you.... 