Anxiety Attack

Sitting down with all of these

SOUNDS. SOUNDS. SOUNDS.

I hear them echo and reverberate, causing chaos in my brain.

Most people don't know that chaos is a liquid poison.

But I do.

I can feel it drip from my Grey matter down my gears and pulleys.

I can watch it tense and pull on my muscles and now it's gotten to the heart of the matter.

Exploding this situation out of control, out of time, and out of proportion.

My lungs are each having a seizure while my arms feel much too restless and my hair feels too loose on my head.

Terror. Terror. Terror.

I need to sit down. I can't breath right. I need water. I need a blow to the ribs. I need air. I can't focus. My throat feels tight. Who is touching me? STOP! I need to unclench my fists. I don't know what's going on.

Somebody turn the lights down. I still can't breathe. Should I die?

Allofthesethingscomecascadingdownonthepavement.

Need. To. Breathe.

I still feel my heart but at least by now my limbs are calming down.

Your comforting words are helping clear the clutter in my brain compartments.

I feel like I'm floating back down into my body, the body that I am familiar with.

I now fully feel the cuts and bruises. The usual sting.

But it's exactly where I need to be.

Through The Cracks

When did these cracks in my sidewalk begin? 

I do not know, but surely I should 

Never across these lines have I walked 

Never once have I noticed these marks

They must be new

I hate them already

Crooked cracks, why are you here? Why now? 

My path was smooth before you came along 

You have no business cutting through my trail 

And now what? What's this!?

Are you laughing at me? 

Or just yawning? 

Concrete mouths gaping wide in my sidewalk 

Are you threatening to swallow me whole?

Well, I decline the request

I refuse to fall through your lips 

You can't have me 

No, not yet 

So if you don't mind, I'll be going now

I have things to do so get out of my way 

Shut your mouth, your attempts are futile

I have to keep walking down this road  

And don't even think about nipping at my heels 

I won't fall through the cracks. 

Friendly Fire

Dear Ambidextrous Man, 

I hear you write words with both of your hands 

How does it feel? How does it feel to fight with your hands?

One scrawls your joy, while the other your pain

Together they paint a dull world of gray 

Luxurious, lovely, lustful letters 

Flirting together on fragile lines

Thick contradictions dancing around

Weaving in... and weaving out...

Potent words piercing the pages

Eloquent chains that tactfully twist

Clashing together in colloquial cacophony 

A civil war complete with friendly fire

Black... White... Black... White.... Gray

Dear Ambidextrous Man,

How does it feel to fight with your hands?

Awfully good...

Awfully good...

Awfully good?

Everything I'm Cracked Up to Be

“I can’t help but wonder if there’s some moon inside me, spinning and shifting without my consent, making here over there and over there here,and I’m afraid I’ll end up rolling out, beyond the lifeguard stand, up and over the dunes and into the parking lot, sprawling into the roads, unearthing houses and lampposts, drowning children I've knocked from their bikes. I stare at the farthest reaches of the tallest trees, jutting up like the tips of an explosion, and I imagine touching them but it feels all wrong, like fingering the corners of my heart–somewhere that shouldn't be touchable, a place that shouldn’t be reached. And wherever that is, I know that’s where I am.”

~Everything I’m Cracked Up To Be (lifted from Goodmorning&Goodnight.com)

The Roadrunners Dance

I see the words stumble, slide out of your mouth. Watch them jaunt down the kilter of your body. Dream like I see their distinct little faces look up at me. I blink. Your words have developed into something bigger. Were they so burly the time before? Something clicks in my brain and your words start digging into my chest, searching for my heart. My deep inhalation is painful as I desperately try to fight them off. But they won't stop. And you're not calling them back.

I try to take a step but you flutter to where I am and take hold of my arm. 

"How could you do something like this?" I scream with my eyes. 

And your words are still carving away at the cavity that was my chest. 

Their weapons burn with each hack.

Breath in. Breath out. This will bring you potency.

What are your words doing now? Have they stopped? 

No. But something disparate is happening. 

They have taken on their former, softer cast. 

The blows aren't hurting anymore but I can still hear them.

Thump. Thump.

I watch your words glide over the folds on my countenance and blot out my tears. 

They are neatly ironing out the scowl from my brow. 

I feel their dainty feet and hands push me up into a better posture.

Thump. Thump.

Is this the same room we were in to begin with? 

Who is that stranger, that girl at the window? 

I don't recognize her.

Thump. Thump.

Still wary, I look down at my chest to find sutures and stitches. Or is it a sweater?

Where have your words gone now?

Thump. Thump.

What is that thumping if not your words?

Thump. Thump.

Realization. I can finally feel my heart beating. 

Who knew that it would be you to bring my heart back to life?

Thank you.