This poem turned into some other beast

Unlike the saying,
we notice you don’t have to be quiet at all
to hear crickets.
They beat over us just like humidity muffles us,
slows us, dulls us.
Summer wants us to quiet and let the world speak.
Summer leaves me thirsty and nicotine craving,
waiting to fill up rather than let out.
I read my passed friend’s blog. She had written
a post on my birthday
then of how much she hates the summer.
Why do I feel so strangled, too.
I’m so sorry I’ve only been alongside you by parallels.
I writhe in it.
No one I loved truly made it passed summer.
Give me a sign cause
I’m not convinced we’re wrong.
I’m not convinced we’re wrong.
I’m not convinced we’re wrong.
I’m not convinced we’re wrong.
I’m not convinced we’re wrong.
I’m not convinced we’re wrong.

I always feel I take bites out of mornings but nights take bites out of me.
Why do I want to be in a cycle that requires my willed and timed tranquilizer?
How do I survive in a cycle
How do I survive in a cycle
How do I survive in a cycle
How do I survive in a cycle
When they didn’t?

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2 thoughts on “This poem turned into some other beast”

  1. “I always feel I take bites out of the mornings but the nights take bites out of me” that just hit me so hard. As someone who suffers from depression I know exactly what you mean by this whole piece. So many days feel un bearable, and night, especially, makes me question the validity of everything around me; including myself. I know it’s hard but just know how strong you are for continuing to fight through this. I hope light can find you soon. Always remember you are not alone.

    I run a blog on mental health called “Dear Hope”, join the community here: wemustbebroken.com

    Like

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