I stumble through life like a dehydration-addled ascetic in a desert during the apocalypse
There is no separation between earth and sky
The sand in my sight brings me visions
But I do not see my path
I tell my friends I am a slow-moving, lumbering beast
I dance as in water, I walk through wet snow,
The toll of the clock doesn’t come
I do nothing but stare out the car window on road trips
I once counted seven Cracker Barrels between my house and Atlanta
I certainly missed a few
–
I take hot showers, I run my hands under the cold sink
I try to drink my daily recommended 8 cups of water
I submerge myself in rivers
I anchor myself to a rock and duck under the rush of the stream
It’s just me, the water, and the strength of my grip
It is both not enough and all too much.
My hair will be tangled and dirtied for days to come
My couch will feel as though
It is carrying me downstream
The rush of the river refuses to leave my ears
I expected to emerge anew, but instead I have found myself entangled
Between places and selves
I have given up control in an attempt at rebirth.
(My mother never had me baptized as a baby, so I chose to when I was 11
I had begged to eat the bread and drink the wine
but the bread was stale and the wine
pungent and myself so unchanged)
I need more.
I drown myself in the love of my friends.
Late nights, fast food dinners.
Lifting up and spinning them around after months apart.
Drunk, sober, fully awake and half asleep.
Little cards, gifted candies.
Raucous laughter and sworn vows.
I find good company but fail to find myself.
You are the company you keep and I am consumed by others
If they all left me, I would be nobody. No sound would come out
and no joy would be left.
It is not enough.
I lift up my metaphorical pen (everything I do is on a computer these days)
And write.
–
I have this dream that someday I will write down
Everything that has ever happened to me
all that I can remember
Imagine everything you’ve ever done, all that you’ve gone through experienced:
Recorded
A new interpretation of Sisyphus’s boulder
You carry push everything you’ve ever experienced
And it brings you down again
Damn, Sisyphus should’ve just left
Just, like, don’t keep going up that hill
It’s that easy
I drop my boulder
I pick up pebbles on the bank
I write down my days, one at a time
I still can’t get out of bed
But I look at the page and I know I am tangible
My movement feels a bit more real, my vision a bit more clear
A gentle shower descends upon the desert
I cup my hands to collect the water
And drink
I run my fingers over the smooth surface of the pebbles
