Poetry

bite your tongue and swallow 

count to ten, divisible by 2 on a good day and 5 on a bad day

9 chews too loud

8 rubs on each finger, 8 thumb to thumb and then every other finger. always an even number

I don't want to 

I shouldn't need to 

I don't have to

I really shouldn't.

Numbers upon numbers upon numbers that insist

upon eachother. Adding up quickly and carrying mental 

fresh out of the plane,

weary eyed and sickly pale, 

I trudge.

deep within my suitcase, I carry a passport I don't want to show to anyone, 

even if they ask for ID. 

people sleep 

in beds

in graves 

laid down by death's sweet glave 

and when the songbird spreads its wings 

some will wake when morning sings 

but others still will slumber on 

a gust of cold wind 

leaves burnished by the new fall

time to bake cookies  

I'm sorry for screaming so loud,

Except really I am not,

Because how am I supposed to stay quiet, 

When this fire still burns hot.

I wander through the woods. The day is cool and dry, with a wind blowing that smells of wood and fallen leaves. The bracken has begun to brown, though the Joe pye weed and goldenrod still stand strong.

Breathe. 
In. Out. 

A calm breath, 
a solid moment stuck 
in the middle of chaos.

Count to a number you call 
lucky. Every number is lucky to somebody. 

In a chaotic world 

of eight billion people, 

each hidden away 

in their own 

separate lives, 

be remembered for 

being the person 

who brings others joy, 

A whisper in the wind... 

A yell in the thunder... 

But they will never tell my secrets... 

Cry in my pillow... 

Cry in the rain... 

But they will never mock my tears... 

Lying in my bed

Staring at the ceiling

Rethinking the day

Going over everything I said

Everything I did

But please

Don't tell my friends

About my excessive overthinking

I 

I sit 

I sit and 

I sit and think 

I sit and think and 

I sit and think and wonder 

I sit and think and wonder and 

I sit and think and wonder and worry