A miscellaneous chapter.
There always was
I wake up every morning and before the sun hits my skin I feel externally grateful that I kept on trying, even when I didn't think I wanted to, even when I thought I couldn't, something in me kept burning to make it to today.
I thought my addiction would be what defined me, welcome to the endless winter, welcome to being almost able to breathe. I thought I was going to die like that. I'll choke on my vomit and that will be the end.
It's in days like today I am glad I pushed through my little dark age because this is what I wanted.
All along I wanted more than anything to be truly and utterly happy, I had given up on that months ago, but it's summer time.
Things that used to be unbearable, things I never seemed to be able to live with are now lovely. I thought that the only things that made me happy were the drugs. I sat in front of my father and told him meaning every syllable of the words I spoke.
There's so much more to life, there always was.
Stories retold
Stories replay in my mind, they capture my attention and demand to be told, again and again.
Tell me about the rape, tell me how it broke you, tell me how you learned to live with it. Tell me about the drugs, tell me why you miss them, tell me why you stopped. Tell me about how fractured your mind is, tell me about how you are finding your peace despite it all. Tell me about how you are finally happy, tell me about how your little dark age is over.
These memories and thoughts grow together like a vine climbing the edges of my home.
The truth grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. The truth tells me about today, the truth demands to take up a bedroom in my mind.
Two narrators
It seems my life is a book written from two different perspectives.
One of the narrators captures nothing but perfection.
This is all I've ever wanted, the happiness I have been wishing for is finally here.
I love so many things, I love everyone who walks with me, I love every pastime I could ever imagine, I love this song more than anything.
I feel a fire burning in my stomach, a passion that keeps me alive.
But soon the gray comes, it is dark and often feels endless.
I struggle to see any reason for things, I struggle to find peace, I wonder if there's any reason to keep living.
I cannot bring myself to do anything because it all seems bleak and pointless.
The cycle of moods is ever changing and never ending.
YOU ARE READING
Sincerely October
PoetryThis poetry book was written having multiple narratives, lots of happiness and healing, lots of aching and low points. I choose the title "sincerely October" to capture being authentic.
