Remnants
No.
None of you
are safe to be around.
Remnants
of
“You’ll never make it!
How could you?”
echo
between these walls.
Success? A career? A future?
Simply
an order far, far too tall.
Choking, gasping,
coming up for air—
Look!
At all these missed opportunities
everywhere.
Found
and yet—
still lost.
Unencumbered in the free fall.
Trying,
sighing,
catastrophizing,
Will I ever find peace, afterall?
Making up
for a lifetime
of feeling stuck.
Pushing through
decades
of “just suck it up.”
They gave
good reason to fear
callous, loaded
foes of origin.
Why can’t I remember
being born again?
Reddened howls
of overcompensation
lining
the insides of my cheeks.
Energy all used up.
Man—
I haven’t written,
photographed,
breathed..
in weeks.
Whispers, remnants,
of
“You’re not good enough.
It’ll always be your fault.”
looming,
mounting doom.
Tightness
in unavoidable swirls—
yes
I think I might hurl.
Begging, pleading,
Get out of my room!
False starts
in fast forward
I think—
…it’s just a little
funny
I met
my best friends
in the psych ward.
Melodies
of
“We believe in you,
no, stuttering doesn’t prevent
a dream come true”
linger
in paper cups
and shaky breaths
With myself,
I need to make amends.
