Sincerely October

A collection of lists

Poems written in a list format.

Beautiful things about today
I am writing this in my backyard, I can feel the soft breeze blowing and the weather is just perfect.
I don't have night terrors like I used to, I know I am safe now, I can sleep in peace.
He still talks to me, I thought he was gone with no return, but we are friends now.
My passion for writing is like a flame in my stomach that only grows stronger.
I think I may have accepted that awful thing about myself that I thought made me unlovable.
He's stuck with me through all of it, he loves me, he loves me for the things I hate about myself.
I can write in a real journal now, I don't have to wonder if someone will read through it and find out I'm getting high again because I'm sober.
I have more sober time than I've had in ages, I really want it this time, I want it bad enough.
My family and friends are starting to trust me again, they are starting to see me for what I am now rather than what I was.
My little dark age is over, marigold season is here.

My favorite things
Watching my journal be filled with sunny entries page by page.
When someone reads what I write and enjoys it, when it means something to them.
Watching my page count go up. Knowing I'll hold these thoughts printed in my hand someday.
Feeling like I've found my "thing."
New ideas with the passion to plant the seeds and watch them grow.
Thinking I may have accepted it this time, thinking I may have swallowed this pill and won't cough it up.
Being in my backyard and feeling the breeze.
The landmarks me and my dad mention on each hike.
The shirts I painted. The bracelets and necklaces I made.
My box of stuffed animals.
My cassette tapes, the memories that grew with the music.
The feeling that this room is mine, not his.
Feeling like this life is finally mine, not his.
When I wear an outfit that feels like me, when my blue sweater and chipped black nail polish go together perfectly.
When I see them share another photo, when I see them live loudly.
When I think one day maybe I can be like them, how they are.

Things in my clover home
An array of paint chips hanging just above my desk.
Two heart frames, a heart shaped box, a heart basket.
A stack of books from the thrift shop.
A collection of homemade necklaces and bracelets.
A mug with mushrooms on it.
An old clock.
A collection of finished art journals.
Old drawings hanging on my wall.
Envelopes from the thrift shop hanging on my wall.
Tapestries with the sun or trees.
A drawer full of old journals and things for my memory box.
Decks of homemade tarot and oracle cards.
A box of stuffed animals with a gray rabbit on top.

Things my past self would be surprised by
You came out, you told everyone.
They let you do what you wanted to do.
Strangers in public don't wonder if you're a man or a woman.
You started doing drugs again. It was worse this time.
You go to rehab again.
You stopped with the drugs, again.
You find a hobby worth sticking to.
You don't mind being so inconsistent.
You told them what he did to you.
You and her aren't together anymore.
You and him don't work out.
You get out of your little dark age.
You stop thinking the rape was your fault.
You don't want to kill yourself anymore.
You get diagnosed with schizophrenia, you are worse then you were before.
You haven't died yet.
People believed you. He was wrong.
The things that bothered you before don't matter now.
Your memory gets worse. You did a lot of damage with the drugs.
You feel like this is your life, not his.