I’m so tired

I was asked to push the invader out
STOP
NO
GET AWAY FROM ME
DON’T HURT ME
My wall is closing in
As I let it do so
And I fight for the little space I have
Can I lean against my field for support
Or will it keep me out to.
How long to I have to hold them out

I hide from this transparent shadow
What was it like before
Before I was afraid
Of what my face shows
Of the words I said
Before I find out what anything means to me

My dreams are gone
Pointed to the past with no thought of the future
Each effort is for each day.
I know what will happen next because I made it that way.
WORK
CLASS
LUNCH
WORK
CLASS
DINNER
WORK
CLASS
Not wanting to go to sleep
And then struggling to get up again

At the fork of Hate and Love. Some can call it: Road Rage

I don’t like being mad at him, but it’s energetic! When I ponder the purpose of my anger it feels wrong; we should forgive and forget? How can I hate someone I love? Concomitantly, when I don’t think about it, it’s nice to be angry. It gives me the fuel to move forward. It burns inside me, keeping me from sulking in the middle of the road while the rest of my life passes by. Because of this frustration I take new directions I would not have taken before. The pausing points in my life are like yield signs, road blocks, or traffic which give me time to look behind me and see the blazing trail I have traveled and find myself further away from him and how we were connected, allowing the hope that was inflamed fade a little. I have more things to hope for, more experiences and emotions to fill my tank with. All that is left is a shadow or a whisper of him. Certain foods I eat, sappy songs I hear, a shirt I put on, pulls him forward in full view, yet each day it is not as strong as the time before. His smile fades, his jokes aren’t as funny, the burn dwindles just a bit; the candle of hope gets smaller and smaller. No matter how far away I am from him I am always connected to him. There are these dormant boxes inside of me that represent all the things that have become me. Sometimes the lids of these boxes loosen and the perfume of the past brings to my body emotions of joy and pain, regret and gallantness. For him there is a similar box which is full of him. It is a box I carry with me everywhere, but this box is special, there is no pretty bow that holds it shut, but impounded with a faulty lid that does not fit tight, which allows him to quickly sneak out when I least want him to. He sneaks out of the box while I’m waiting in line to play volleyball, while I brush my teeth, while I converse with friends, during lonely walks home, and often at the time when decisions should be made. I can never let go, I can never forget the love I felt. I can let the hurt and anger burn inside, allowing me to keep on plowing forward. Maybe, as the distance of time gets me further from the connected path we once shared of our lives, the yield signs wont effect me so much, and the box will have a tighter lid. The burn inside my heart will not hurt as much, because I have replaced it with other boxes that I will pile on the lid of his box, closing it tight, and maybe, as I approach green lights in my life I’ll stop being angry and a new, less painful, candle of hope will start to be my light and my direction.

If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.

- Earnest Hemingway in A Farewell to Arms -