SUPERSTITIONS

Opinions, thoughts and ideas. Everyone has them, but some are better than others, and these are mine.

[hannah-deane]

I have attacked happiness as it it were a thing to

Conquer.

I shoved doubt aside like curtains

But the windows are closed and the view, dark

I have collected softness and giggles

Bathed in wine

Tossing aside the sleepless nights

I stride on,

Looking for "it"

Looking for me

Looking for you

[ohk4te]

the question should not be “can i do it?” because the answer is yes, yes i can—the question should be “do i want to do it?”—and if the answer is no, the question becomes “do i need to do it?”—and if the answer to this is yes then by all means do it. but if the answer to these two questions is “no,” then it does not matter if the answer to the first question is “yes.” yes, you can do many things—so do the ones you want and need to do

[hannah-deane]

I fight the daylight

Push it away with a pillow to my face

I'm not ready to leave my blanket

The comforting weight drawing me to the land of make believe

Where you're here against me

You can speak of sciences and love

You can lay with me against the chill

There's a soothing ace for more

My stomach clenches in a hunger

Morning breath hangs thick against my smoothed face

The increasing lack of oxygen becomes a comfortable pain

And I squirm against my empty sheets

Imagining the ifs...

[hannah-deane]

Awake

I bathe my shoulders in the soothing warmth

Stretching the dried sweat from my body

Erasing the dreams; the bloody, terrible dreams...

This solace is not a cure, but the happiness tingles my spine in tune with the finches songs

I crave the blinding power of this light

But soon the sharp light of billions of dying stars will engulf my fuzzy escape

Counting me through the night

Ticking away the invasive monsters roaring of danger

[hannah-deane]

Now?

I'm not sure when I stopped laughing at self deprecating thoughts

I started to love the sunrise more than sunsets and found the sounds of happiness no longer tinged with envy, but belonging to my own delight

I don't wonder at the depth of sorrow I keep stained in ink and tears

I only wonder how to live some days, without scrapping wounds into white, hard scars; becoming resilient and more. I falter on days I feel content, on hours that I am not breathing slowly in anger

Is it now a grand chase to preserve it against bitterness?

How do people live when they find they can be Happy?

[starrover]

Anne Sexton, from ‘You Doctor Martin’, The Complete Poems

[hannah-deane]

×

2 and 1/2 hours till work

7 hours to stay upright and competent

1 hour to calm down

5 hours to toss and turn

10 minutes to see if the baby will sleep again

Hours, minutes, sometimes it's 5 seconds of breathing

1 hour of thirsty, immobile staring from an uncomfortable recline...

How many days this time will I have to count my times out to function?

The stretches in between grow longer, but the dull rot creeps stronger

Maybe I'm out of practice

Maybe I just need to count some more

Count until I shake my head for the final time before it screeches it's sad retreat till the next episode

In 2 months? 5 months? Tomorrow?

[amortizing]

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”

— Anton Chekhov

[hannah-deane]

It's just a day.

It is just

A day.

[littlehorrorshop]

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Now or Never (1921) dir. by Hal Roach

[hannah-deane]

I had nightmares of people I knew,

People I loved

People I never cared to know...

They were not moving

they were frozen on tracks

With eyes pasted everywhere but in line with mine.

They stared and I yelled till I was a whisper

I said run

And they did not run

I said, "can't you see me?"

And they did not hear.

I was older and awake and I said to your face,

"can you see? Can you hear me? Stay away. Stay far away!"

And you left.

One was left. One was maimed.

No.

Many were maimed...

And I said, "why didn't you see? Why didn't you hear?"

And all I heard were blasting echos and silence broken by a

"Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep".

[hannah-deane]

They told me when I was a child, that if I picked at my scabs, I would have scars. I proudly scraped away the drying blood and healing flesh.

"I want these memories. I'm not scared of what I did"

I said these words with conviction

Until I had to plea with myself to not cut healthy flesh.

Until I bled through screaming

Till I learned that guilt was not broken bones and drunken fantasies of twisted hot metal wrapping my brains around greasy steering wheels.

I had to learn that scars from trees are mocking shows compared to scabs which never heal, because the memories are dear, but the "what ifs" cost more.

[hannah-deane]

Write Now

After years of miniscule revisions

Adding characters

Typing names

Ceaselessly crowding up pages with metaphors...

Hours of staring into my own head for an ending,

For a message

Till finally,

I killed them off.

Because sometimes you cannot fix what simply does not fit

[hannah-deane]

*

Peach tinted vaper smokes from the green raised ridges

Cheery spotlights filter through the gloom tinted layers

Creating a theater effect upon unevenly chomped grass and the slow plodding of cows

The highway moves me swiftly past this view

But I'm stuck in the enchantment even still as the views disappear and the stress ebbs back into my neck like the mist leaving the mountains,

So goes that joy

[hannah-deane]

Contort

I would run my fingers through you hair

But it's locked away from comfort

I would hug you

But your ashes washed into a crisp stream

I would tell you

Yes, little black dresses are for every occasion

But you're blue and contorted

It's Friday with a full moon

The liquor burns deeply

I howl in silent, gaping screams

In grief, in pain, in fear, in the worst agony of all... Understanding.

[hannah-deane]

°

I have memories of uncomplicated laughter

From late nights with too much alcohol

The dusty diamonds and the salty victory kisses

I remember not speaking

Not saying we were both second guessing

Instead,

We covered over conversation by uncovering each other

We poured our own meanings into each other

Till it became too crowded between us

We cried separately...

We still cry alone.

[thewomb]