My Day

Do you ever get tired

Of how I always tell you

Just how fragmented I feel?

Does it wear you out?

When I tell you,

I cannot rest

Cannot sleep

Cannot eat

Cannot so much

As put on socks

Because reaching for the drawer

Is just that much of a chore?

Do I annoy you?

When I lie

Paralyzed in bed

Passing the days

Doing nothing

Because my body won’t let me

Do anything

Won’t listen to me

Won’t move even

Just one muscle

To even pretend 

I’m alive.

Do I hurt you?

When you catch me

Hiding inside

Looking at the blade

Holding it just an inch away

From my arm,

A sad wristcutter

Maybe, possibly,

Perhaps that is all

I am.

Today, I chose

To string words together

Jigsaw the shards

Inside me

Even though I penned

The words

With red ink

Gathered from the

Sharp steel edge.

Today is just

One of my days

Not,

One of those days

My days

My every day. 

And I had been taught

Since I was a child

On one of my days

To bow

To pray

To ask God

To love me

Because I cannot. 

On one of my days

To converse

To listen

To open up

To Buddha

To bless me

When I cannot. 

On one of my days

To look for

To see

To speak 

To spirits

To protect me

Because I cannot. 

But what of my spirit?

Where is she?

My soul, she is heavy

Waterlogged,

Bearing the weight

Of secrets I cannot tell.

Because if I did,

Tell me,

What then?

Would you listen?

Would you understand?

When I wake, 

I pick through

Skeletons in my closet

Wearing a different personality

That I cannot choose. 

And in the night,

When sleep finds you easy

The gravediggers

Are out looking for me. 

All I ask

Is for just one day

To not be mine

For one day

To be plain

To be ordinary

To be simple

So at the least

My soul can rest easy

Or not.

But much rather 

Would I be

With other people

For it is so much easier

To pretend to be someone

That isn’t me

Than to try and explain

My circular insanity.

Does it drive you crazy?

To hear me speak

Of premature madness

Then witness it

Right before you

A hermit some days

Flamboyant the next

Gaudy and brilliant

A sun, a star

Then the mask of Death

Bloodthirsty crows

Pecking out my eyes

Gouged like Samson’s

So I do not have to see

How truly vile

My mind, my subconscious

My whole being can be. 

Do you ever worry

That I might not 

Be around tomorrow

The day after

Or the day after that?

When you see me

Collide through the door

Smoke wisping

Through the personality

I am wearing. 

So like you,

I am tired. 

I am annoyed. 

I am hurt. 

But unlike you,

I am crazy. 

And for souls that are tired

Hurt, annoyed, and crazy,

All they truly wish for

Is to rest easy,

Or not. 

But to rest nonetheless,

Unmoving, 

Perhaps to

Trick Death and say

Not today. 

Today is still my day. 

So when the day comes,

The day that is just

Plain and ordinary

My soul can perhaps 

Simply rest easy.

For that day

Will become

One of those days

And that day

Will no longer be mine.