sporadic panic attacks

the sound of my thoughts

reverberates from too much

to not enough

of unidentifiable unquantifiable entities of substances feelings.

to be human is to be flawed.

I don't know what I want from a man

when my chest closes up

like the gates to the life are shutting me out.

I can't function for a short time. Do I want him to buy me flowers?

Would that really make a difference?

Sometimes I think maybe

the gravity of the situation needs to be affirmed by another

so I don't feel crazy when I can't breathe

over some stupid missed assignment,

or saying the wrong thing to somebody's parent.

Although I rarely get this way anymore,

when I do, I am grasping for something

into thin air,

my shaking fragile hand left unsatisfied.

PARADOX

I need to write a story for Forms of Fiction but all I can think about is poetry

Lamenting an Old Friendship

I can't believe how hard I fell

they were just words and

you are just a girl

thin, probing, pointy nose

pigeon toes

your voice meandering, quiet, unsure

hair color changing like your moods

projecting your insecurities onto everyone around you.

We used to sit over piping mugs of floral tea,

smoking camel crushes on your porch

in the summer heat. You said they helped your anxiety.

We would spend our entire paychecks on cheap clothing,

drink triple sec from the bottle, see a show,

meet new people; joke about ex boyfriends,

make 90s mixes and sing at the top of our lungs.

You brought me tissues in a disney princess box

when I felt broken, and I dropped by at a moment's notice

when you were lonely, when you felt neurotic.

I trusted you, even though you're the worst driver I know,

and you flaked out on most things last minute,

or made me wait outside of your apartment so many times

when you knew I was coming.

I told you things I've told very few,

sitting across from you in a diner at 2 in the morning

over mouse-shaped chocolate desserts.

I remember driving 50 miles to see you perform at coffee shops,

stumbling in from the cold, heart overflowing with support

as you sang--edgy and raw, fingers pouncing on black and white slabs of ivory.

I'd have been there for you through anything.

I don't know if I'd take it back now or not;

to be an open book and be brutally rebuffed

is the worst kind of rejection,

especially when you start questioning who you are because of it.

But you, old friend, tremble through life, unsure--

alienating loyal people out of selfishness, insecurity and jealousy,

and others say I am too pure of heart and intention to be affected by your defense mechanisms anymore.

Modeled off of "German Bar" by Charles Bukowski

I had spilled my morning coffee

somebody had boxed my car in on Cold Spring Lane

I could feel the deterioration of our friendship

and my dad was

sick. I went home to lay

down feeling defeated

but then you sent me that text

though you weren't present I could feel your spit on my face

as you spoke in swears

berating me.

everything goes to shit all at once,

you know. I apologized

and broke down.

nobody knows the power of their words.

I now realize it wasn't me--you just hated yourself.

_________________________________________

I had lost the last race big

somebody had stolen my coat

I could feel the flu coming on

and my tires were

low. I went in to get a

beer at the German bar

but the waitress was having a fit

her heart strangled by disappointment

grief and loss.

women get troubled all at once,

you know. I left a tip

and got out.

nobody wins.

ask Caesar.