I’m between the ghouls and the monster
It makes you stick,
stick in one place.
It makes you
& that’s what I am
I’m afraid to mourn a mother who is not yet (physically) gone.
I’m afraid to live
I’m afraid to love
I’m afraid to learn from my mistakes
because I feel I have already made enough.
That’s another word I identify with my current state,
However, I do not use it as an adjective to describe myself,
no, that would be too kind.
& kindness can not be afford to those who need
I’ve had it.
I’ve had enough pain.
I’ve had enough anger.
I’ve had enough doubt.
I’ve cried enough tears.
I imagine there’s a collection of all the salt water I release
at night in my bed,
or in my shower,
or in my car, in broad daylight, at a stop sign, while an old Chinese lady stares at me.
There’s just jars & jars of it, sitting on a shelf somewhere.
They are labeled with my name & someone is sorting through them,
with the tiniest pasture pipette,
counting out each droplet,
seeing if it has reached the magic number,
seeing if it’s
But it isn’t.
So, the universe rears back its fist to have another go.
But I have had enough.