i’m underwater
barely able to breathe
so stop trying to talk to me.
Tag Archives: stress
My Last One Hundred Miles
for my last one hundred miles
i will
pound the pavement with
every last bit of angst
that aches to pour out
with the spin of my tires
for my last one hundred miles
i will
let loose the screaming soul
within my soul
and forget for a moment
why i am here
for my last one hundred miles
i will
be the dream i dreamt of me
chase the sun into the horizon
and allow the night to
envelop my desires
for my last one hundred miles
i will
pound the pavement with a plan
that will carry me to the top of
the mountain,
to the next one hundred,
one thousand,
two thousand miles.
Repercussions
it is only five seconds
with repercussions that will
last a lifetime
my childhood haunts me
as the same stress, anger
leaps into my veins
how i want to push it back
to not have this moment
of loss, of bitter haste
soon they are all crying
the moment turns into
long o-o-o-o-o-o-o’s
all i can do is reach out
my arms, wrap them inside,
and wish time backwards.
Pieces (Peace)
like a hurricane where
it doesn’t belong, stress
has swooped in from a
once-peaceful tropical locale,
tearing down trees,
ripping off roofs,
destroying in its path
every last bit of calm
that the summer once
peacefully offered me.
i stare into the beast’s eye,
reminding me that the middle
is only a moment of waiting,
that the end will whip around
and leave remnants of the
past in pieces behind its
horrendously angry tail,
pieces I will pick up, put back
together, and swallow in peace.
Release
a pile of bricks behind my back
held with twine that tears into my palms
(blood spilling as it rips the skin,
blood pouring onto them)
i can’t release it
every now and then a brick
will fall from the pile,
forcing me to stop my forward motion,
bend over, bring it back
i can’t release it
a pile of bricks behind my back
held with twine that tears into my muscles
(ripping them apart at the seams,
ripping me apart at the seams)
i can’t release it
every now and then a brick
will fall from the pile,
forcing me to stop, to mortar it
to the wall i try to repair
i can’t rebuild it
a pile of bricks behind my back
held with twine as thin as a line of fire
(burning me up with every step,
burning them up with every step)
i will release it
Full
i dislike how early you wake me
frightening me, preventing further sleep
i toss, i turn, i wait for relief
but have none
you hollow me out from the inside,
a ladle scooping out my strength,
but i will overcome, i will
because you don’t control me
despite your persistence,
you have met your match in me
and though you think you’ve hollowed
everything, I am still strong
(the strength, it comes from another part of me,
the one you cannot touch, the one
with a persistence that beats you down,
carries me into the wind, makes me full)
Waterfall
where does it come from?
the hand slapping strict rules of my youth?
the overworked and underpaid parents?
or the soul, searching for reconciliation?
i will never know
but i work to suppress it,
the overstressed frustration
that overflows onto them,
a waterfall of impatience
out of which they cannot swim
i am looking for the pool
where the river has settled after the fall,
where we can jump in and out,
never worrying about head bangings
or rapid currents,
where the water washes over us
in cool, complete calm.
i know it is there, waiting
(perhaps on the other side of the cliff)
and we can find it if we
take each other’s hands,
hope for the best,
and dive.
I’ve Been There
he has carried her in the crook of his arm
to the point of exhaustion for both
yet
even long distance I can hear her cries,
I can feel the stress rising up over phone lines
and all I can reply is, “I’ve been there.”
she handles it as flippantly as a new mother can,
mentioning only her concerns about the schedule,
the lack of sleep,
the looming return to work,
but he is not so sure
and when she tells me she must go
it is not because of the crying (now settled)
(innocent, newborn) baby,
but because he is stressed.
and all I can reply is, “I’ve been there,”
knowing the words will
never be enough to
cover the overwhelming burden
(of love)
that comes with becoming parents
