Sincerely October

Name - Numb

N for dictionary poetry.

Name
It never felt like the right one.
I didn't wonder why this name didn't feel like my own, I never questioned why I disliked it, I didn't even realize I did.
I sat and stewed in my discomfort without even knowing it.
A part of me, a part of me I kept trying to push away, a part of me I had tried to forget, he knew, but I told myself it couldn't be.
I would try to pack it in a box and leave it on the curb of my house of a mind, but it stayed there, unshifting and relentless it was.
I remember walking from lunch to class and remembering it, I felt a wave of shock in my body because I thought I had forgotten it a long time ago.
It would all come to a screeching halt when I realized it was no way to live.
It didn't feel like the right one because it wasn't mine.
Then came Elliot, a warm and comforting name.
A name that made me smile when I heard it, a name that felt like a sweater that was made just for me, a name I could introduce myself by, my name.

Narrative
My writings have been an everlasting way to capture what is true today, each era of my life having a distinct narrative and title.
The colors of spring and winter,
Realizing what I really am at my core, trying to find my way, trying to make sense of the senseless, pathologizing, trying on different narratives to see which ones fit, writing on christmas, my first finished project, short poems, poems with no punctuation, poems about what I believe in.
Letters from sixteen,
My darkest hours, writing until sunrise, writing while high, only writing while high, being insatiable, feeling alone and unlovable, writing about the rape, nightmares, long poems, rambles, everything getting lost in translation, thinking this will be the end of me, again and again and again, accepting that this will be the end of my consciousness, maybe it won't be.
Sunday in bloom,
Trying, but not trying hard enough, relapsing, becoming someone I thought I'd never become, writing only while high or drunk or whatever, accepting that I have a grim fate, realizing I'm not the man I thought I was, poems about the rape, being stuck in an endless fog, not being able to think of the words, my little dark age.
Sincerely october,
Sobriety, feeling that maybe I can do it this time, relief, relief so grand I cannot put it into words, genuine happiness, dictionary poetry, writing honestly, writing endlessly, iris season.

Nascent
For now I am rambling about it, for now I am writing about it endlessly, for now I am dreaming about it, for now I'm missing it.
In conversation I speak of it relentlessly, every spoken word somehow reminding me of the way things once were, let me tell my story, again and again, let me relive it, again and again.
My poetry books are littered with pages written about drugs, love letters and obituaries, I write without reason, I write about it again and again as the stories replay in my mind.
I wake up from dreams about crushed up pills and bottles. I dream of doing it and trying not to. I dream of never having enough and once again becoming insatiable.
I miss it, I think of it every day, I make valentines day cards for it.
One morning I will drink my coffee with milk and realize that I haven't thought of it in days or weeks or months.
One day I will do more than want and miss and crave.
Each day is a step closer to the day I will know I am more than an addict.

Necropolis
I stand in front of the graves and say goodbye to all the people I have been.
I say goodbye to the self that thought I would get high until it killed me. I sit in front of the headstone and read him a letter, I tell him about how it was not worth it in the end, I tell him that he will find his happiness elsewhere, I tell him that there is more to life than drugs, there always has been.
I say goodbye to the little girl that thought she wouldn't live through it. I remind her that I love her, I tell her about life today, I tell her about all she has ahead of her, I tell her she makes it through in the end.
I say goodbye to the part of myself that doesn't want to get better. We both know comfort in misery is no means to satisfaction. I ask him: when you take your last breaths do you think you will regret tearing yourself apart?
I say goodbye to the girl I thought I had to be. I say goodbye to changing myself to be more digestible. I tell her that she has done her job, she doesn't have to pretend anymore, she can rest now.