I thought about editing this: I thought about making it shorter or rereading it a thousand times like I do all the rest of my posts. Then it seemed like an insult to the one who put this poem in my hands.
I Was Born With Too Many Emotions
Every day, another roller coaster.
I always hated them.
Something I never understood about
choosing to put oneself in such peril.
I spend my lunch break
writing love letters
and my evening hours
mixing tears and snot.
The weeks are full of these days
that test my weaknesses
and the months are full of these weeks
that belittle my strengths.
Why do you say
I am the one making my reality?
How can anyone choose repeatedly
such a nausea inducing ride?
I start the morning
prostrating in gratitude
and by the early evening I’m on the floor again,
this time in tears.
(I think) I am only my flesh and bones
and I worry they can’t stand it
when my heart is both full-to-exploding
and empty-to-exhaustion every day.
The only hope
is to give up hope.
Give up all worry
and just float.
I spent many years floating
and I can tell you,
I wasn’t happy,
but I was balanced.
So in an effort to balance
do I cut out the heartbreaking love?
Is it wrong to give
even when it feels so right?
How hard is too hard
to work for what you want?
When do you finally admit, it wasn’t the voice of God,
it was just a dream?
I want to believe.
So tell me why
no one else can help me,
What happens when your angels
call it quits?
Who do you call out to
when the ground is rushing up from below?
I don’t want to turn off!
All I want is stronger wings.
What does it mean when the angels refuse
and you’re left broken and sick?
SHUT UP INNER VOICE,
I WANT TO BE LOST RIGHT NOW.
I want to answer my own questions
but I’ve been wrong so many times before.
I want to stop needing answers
but that desire only brings more questions.
I desire to stop desiring.
Where does one go from there?
All I hear are echos in the dark.
The silence is deafening.
I’m sick of my own voice.
But your voice is the voice of God!
Then how can it steer me wrong like this,
why am I here in this broken pile?
I have lessons to learn here?
When will the scenery change?
Will I be on this ride forever?
I’m not going to survive it alone.
I am going to break a record
for number of wings destroyed,
spines snapped and hearts broken.
At least that’s something to be proud of.
I don’t want this hope anymore.
I’m too tired for gratitude.
Fuck you, Thay. Why did you teach me
to always give thanks?
I don’t want to give thanks,
aren’t you listening?
I’M SICK OF GIVING.
I can’t do it unconditionally.
If I still see the unfairness
of a good person suffering
the expectation of reward
is still buried inside me.
Have I not yet learned my lesson?
How many times do I need to be told,
“I don’t have time for your shit, Veronica.
Mine is too important.”
Do I choose the wrong ones to help?
I thought the universe brought me to them.
Is there such a thing as being wrong
I cannot fathom
pushing someone off my boat
when they are the one
who saved it from capsizing.
I cannot fathom
locking someone out in the rain
beside a house they helped
to weather proof.
I cannot fathom
denying someone a meal
when it was their hands and mine
that prepared its ingredients.