Sincerely October

Taint - Tranquil

T words for dictionary poetry.

Taint
I read entries from days ago and I struggle to ever imagine feeling happy like that.
I write honestly about a newfound happiness and peace and days later it feels as if it was written by someone else, someone I've never known.
Suddenly every elated poem I've ever written is overshadowed by a sense of dread, everything is colored by the storm.
The rain pours and instead of using an umbrella I spend hours walking through it, I feel the droplets hitting my shoulders and dampening my clothes.
In a strange way the bitter cold is comforting, comforting in a way I have trouble letting go of. Everything is colored by being unwell and wanting to be worse. I cannot imagine ever feeling differently, or ever even wanting to.
I go to sleep listening to the calming sounds of rain hitting my roof.
It rains for days or months, and then one summer morning I look out my window and see the sun again.
As quickly as it comes it leaves just as fast, life is worth living again, I have returned.
I look over entries about seeing no point to it all. I smile, how could I ever think that?

Tangible
Throughout the past few years writing has brought so much joy into my life.
The colors of spring and winter,
My first poetry book, a place where I could express my thoughts while finding my path, I wrote about coming into the man I am today, I wrote about what weighed on me, I wrote about what I believed in. Holding this book in my hands showed me that I can finish the things I start, that I am not another leaf blowing in the wind.
Letters from sixteen and Sunday in bloom,
Books I used to capture my worst moments, books I used to give the stories that replayed in my mind a place to live. Many chapters written while intoxicated, many chapters written while I felt that I needed the drugs to feel like myself. Books I wrote during the times when I didn't see a point to it all, a book to tell the stories of what he did to me.
Sincerely october,
A book I wrote knowing every line was written sober. A book written while growing to like being so. A book written during my happiest period, a book written while finding my way back home.
These writings have given me solace, even in the most bitter winter nights.
Nothing compares to the feeling I got when I held my book in my hand, knowing that I wrote every single word on every one of those pages, knowing that I had turned my pain into something lovely.
Every morning I wake up excited for the day when these poems become books I can hold close to my chest.

Teenage
I am growing to enjoy and adore my teenage years.
I love falling into nearly every stereotype placed upon people my age.
I am just learning to drive, of course I hate my permit photo, and I still cannot look behind me without turning the wheel.
I adore buying school supplies for my senior year and complaining about summer school.
I cherish my friends deeply, I enjoy the times we spend together drawing and shopping, I enjoy the long conversations and the quiet moments. 
I am evidently affected by the teenage mood swings and intense obsessions.
I enjoy the small things and the mediocrity of it all.

Temperament
I speak loudly, I often stumble over and switch my words.
I ramble on about my favorite movies and my writing, I vibrate with excitement.
I bring my backpack everywhere with me and I often wear dress pants with button ups.
I appreciate those around me, I want them to know that I cherish and love them.
I often tell the same stories and the same jokes over and over again because I forget that I've mentioned them.
I laugh easily and often with a high pitched wheeze.
I am never quiet. In social settings I say nearly every thought that comes into my mind.

Terrify
I have been back and forth and up and down for so much of my life.
I never seem to have never been able to make peace with what I am given, I never really have, at least not for long.
For now this is okay, I need to get it out of my system to put it to rest, and maybe that's not true, and maybe I am only digging myself deeper, I know that, but this is what I tell myself.
For now I don't mind filling my empty house with noise. The stomach pain and the ache in the back of my throat don't really matter, not to me.
I feel there are things I must fulfill before I find my way through this, and maybe I know that I am diluted, maybe I've known that all along, I find this something I am unwilling to let go of, for now this is something I hold close to my chest with my arms wrapped around it.
I can do this for today, I can do this for a while longer, in fact, I want to keep things the way that they are, but I pray to god that this isn't present for the rest of my life.
I do not want to be thirty years old finding myself on my knees. I cannot be sixty years old and still fighting myself over this.
I tell myself that I will get to where I want to be and then I will put it down, and in some sense I believe there is truth to that, but a bigger part of me doesn't think this will ever be satisfied, that this thing I am looking for does not exist.