Candlelit midnights

Sunny Decembers

A mixed chapter written on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Again and again
You don't understand why you do it half the time.
You don't know why you want it so badly, you want it so badly that you almost need it.
You'll rip yourself into pieces over it, you'll throw it all away, you'll run yourself into the ground without the slightest clue as to why.
You may guess but the real reason remains too far under the surface to be understood.
Why would you do this to yourself? You don't know why but you will keep doing it.
You keep doing it and doing it and doing it and even when you don't want to you do it again.
You may even kill yourself in the process and you do care but not enough to do anything differently.
You accept it, you know the truth and you aren't phased by it.
This kills people, you are no better than death, nobody is, but you don't care about that anymore.
In an odd way you hope it kills you, you hope it kills you quickly and painlessly so you don't have to do it yourself, even if you are doing it to yourself, this is different, at least in your mind.
If there is any reason to it, which you are almost sure there isn't, you lost it.
You lost in the chase because you don't care enough about yourself to stop. Do you?
Why don't you just stop?
You see the mess it's made of you. Why don't you just stop?
The thing is you don't want to, even when you wanted to you didn't want it had enough, and you'll never want it bad enough.
You've accepted this as your way of being and your way of life because really for you what else is there?
What else is there besides this ache?

And it doesn't make sense
It doesn't make sense why you don't want it, even when you wanted it you didn't want it bad enough, really you should have known that.
And it doesn't make sense why you've had some of the best two weeks of your life and didn't write a single poem the entire time.
And doesn't make why you tried but not hard enough, and why the amount of force you put forth wasn't enough.
And it doesn't make sense why you thought you would be able to do it, you should have known you wouldn't, but you didn't.
And it doesn't make sense why you love him so much and feel so much empathy for all he has lost yet cannot muster yourself to be anything more than another thing he will lose.
And it doesn't make sense why he did that to you when you were so small, it doesn't make sense why he didn't love you enough not ring you out like a wet rag doll.
And it doesn't make sense about why you still think about the way he raped you when you know you should focus on the Christmas lights and glittering movies.
And it doesn't make sense why you felt the way you did last night.
And it doesn't make sense why you feel bad for not being better yet do nothing to be better.
And it doesn't make sense why it's always changing yet you expect it to always be the same.
And it doesn't make sense why you don't try harder when you want to and know you should.
And It doesn't make sense why you spoke up when you did and think of the day you did as the best day of your life yet the one you regret most.
And It doesn't make sense why you still love him after what he did to you and feel bad that he is alone on Christmas.
And it doesn't make sense why you are falling apart yet coming together at the same time.
And it doesn't make sense why you don't understand more and why you are just figuring this all out.

Writing
You thought it would help settle things but you've never felt further away.
This is my life this is the bedroom I've almost always lived in yet nothing feels the same.
It's unfamiliar, you don't what would be.
You don't understand anymore but maybe you never did and maybe you're not sure it ever made sense.
I feel so far away, I am distinctly different then the world around me, I do not blend into the painting.
This body is not mine this life is not mine none of it is mine.
You realize you're rambling and that it stopped making sense pages ago but you don't care.
You realize this is another moment in a collection that you likely won't remember but that doesn't help much, does it?
You don't know what you are anymore because when you find that truth it changes and when it changes it all falls apart again.
You don't know what you are, you don't know what you want and what you do.
You tell yourself this time will help and maybe it will but you dig yourself deeper each time you try.
You feel silly that poetry is your passion because it's all about what aches, you struggle to write happy poems, you almost never do, so what does that mean?
They never sound the same as they did when you wrote them.
You hold onto poetry because it's the only thing that lingers, it's the only thing that's always there.
Maybe you don't care if it's good or even understandable because it's always there and it always will be and that's all that you really want.
You don't know why you can't write about the happy things and the lovely moments but maybe that doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter to you because it will always be there and really that's all you need.
None of it makes sense but you keep writing.
What is important to you? You don't know.
You don't know because nothing ever stays the same and even when you try it stays ever changing.
You don't understand because you didn't write when things were happy but now that you are writing it makes sense.
You feel you are laying in the dirt in a dip in the earth.
The dip isn't far but it's noticeable, you are below the grass.
You lay on your back and face the sun because you'd rather stay on the ground than fall trying to get up.
Maybe it's not a good thing that your unhappy rambles are what you are proud of.
You don't register the fact that your book is full of pain because it's your book.
You know you the poem isn't a good one anymore but you keep writing it because it's the only thing you can do.
You don't understand why you are the way you are, but you will always know that you will write about it.

2022
Do you know what you will remember this time of your life by?
Maybe it'll be the feeling of relief because finally someone sees you, you in your entirety, and still says "I love you" when she hangs up the phone.
Maybe it will be the sense that what he did to you still hurts but not as much as it did during the summer.
Maybe it'll be the girl that changed everything.
Maybe it'll be remembered by the sense that you failed but maybe that's okay because it doesn't hurt quite like it used to.
Maybe it'll be the rambling poems you wrote that still don't make sense because they never made sense but you wrote them anyways.
Maybe it'll be your father telling you to wake up before noon on Christmas morning and you find yourself awake before the sun rises.
Maybe it'll be the relief that now you are not alone, now there is nothing about you that nobody knows about.
Maybe it'll be the moment you realized the poems you write right now don't have to be sad because thats not how you feel anymore.
Maybe it'll be the feeling of looking back on the year and mess that it was and being glad it was the mess it was.

It's Summer time
You don't know why but suddenly it just doesn't hurt like it used to.
You used to ache, you spent the spring falling apart, you spent the summer hurting, you spent the fall too drunk too pick up the pieces, and in this winter you feel whole.
You don't quite understand how the puzzle fit together but you know it did.
The relief you feel is indescribable, you may spend your entire life trying to write about it but you will never find the words, because for this whole time you were drowning and suddenly you are on the shore.
Even when the waves come you can still keep your head above water and when you can't you know you will soon.
You thought you'd always be alone and you tried to make peace with that, but you didn't even if you told yourself you did.
One day you realized that you are seen and not just seen but accepted.
You told yourself you didn't care but truthfully that's all you really wanted, and now you have it.
You craved to be loved and known and now you feel so amazing that you don't know what to do with yourself.
It's not just a weight off your shoulders, it's your bones not being crushed.
You don't know why it makes sense now and why it didn't before but you don't care because now you understand.

On being seen
You always wanted to be loved but you can't feel loved unless you are seen.
You didn't think anyone would ever want to see all of you, you just didn't think that person who wanted to see every part of you existed but they do.
For the first time in your whole life you are seen and you are loved.
You don't have to hide anymore.
You realized you never had to, but now you know you don't.
You don't ache quite like you used to.
You are human and you want what humans want, even when you told yourself you didn't, you did, and now you have it.
Aren't you happy? Aren't you relieved? Does life not only feel liveable but worth living?
You realized you were never alone, you realized what you had always wanted was always there.
You are so relieved you could cry because finally for the first time someone knows you.
You used to never feel like anyone saw you, you didn't want them to, but now you do and now they do too.
Suddenly it all makes sense and you don't ache quite like you used to.

Relief
In the beginning writing was fun but you didn't think it would go anywhere.
You wrote and you loved it but you didn't see it being anything more than a project you'd abandon for another.
You didn't know how much it would become.
You'd write more and more, you'd write about springtime and about words you had seen in the dictionary.
You wrote about what you were and what you thought.
You would write endlessly and then when you thought you'd found the end you would write more.
Soon you'd find yourself in the loneliest evening and your little dark age.
You wrote then too.
You wrote so much about the ways it ached and how much you wish you could have what you don't and be what you aren't.
You'd try to pull a happy poem out of your tree of a mind but rarely could you and rarely did you.
Then you did.
Then you finally had a sunny day to write about because why you had been looking for was here and now it doesn't hurt anymore.
Finally after the darkest of nights you felt the sunshine on your skin.
This is what you'd been looking for!
This is the relief you'd always wanted.