Moss and Mushrooms

Monday evening

This was technically finished on a Thursday (I don't think any of it was written on a Monday). The title is a metaphor for my current life. I imagine it as me stressing over tomorrow being Monday, then when Monday is coming to an end I realize there was nothing to worry about and that I have a good week ahead of me. '
TW: mild death/suicide mention, mild addiction/substance mention (in a hopeful and not depressing way, past tense)

Today
You know that this is something within you, something you'd like to hold one day, maybe your hands will be unsteady but you refuse to hide from it.
You push yourself to do something to ease this almost every day, it feels small but it is all a part of something much bigger, bigger than anything bad that has ever happened to you.
You're talking about it with him, you're excited, the day will come when you and him will be close in that way, you know it.
As the conversations flow you realize you are standing behind yourself, your eyes are glazed over and you have retreated.
You look at yourself in the mirror, you remind yourself that today you are not a victim, that you have nothing to run from.
He loves you, he loves you even if you can't give this to him, he loves you regardless of the many things on the list of reasons you use to separate yourself.
He loves you, all of you, he is nothing to hide from, he is no beast to feed.
You look around the room, you are here now and you will let yourself exist in 3D.
You pick out the red mushroom on your desk, the orange album cover of your old favorite song, your friend's yellow drawing hanging on your wall, the green stuffed toys, the blue tv show reference, the purple box of incense.
Today is nothing to hide from.

What I think you are
Maybe human beings are inherently unloving, maybe human beings are designed for other human beings in the most beautiful way, maybe the lines are too crossed and blurry to ever really understand where we lie, but I know I am surrounded by good human beings.
She is good and wants to be better, always, she is running her fingers through my hair after a day I made bad, she is listening even when you stopped making sense hours ago. She is showing you her new shoes, she is redecorating the house again, she is writing on the front porch.
He is telling you the truth even when it hurts, he is quiet courage, he has the job that gives you a ticket to heaven, he is doing his best by you, always. He is reading on a sunday afternoon, he is talking about his girlfriend with a bright smile on his face, he is searching for happiness and peace in all the right places.
She is always able to make me laugh, she is loud and lovely, she is dedication to the things that really matter. She is going to see her friends every day of the week, she is studying for hours with colorful highlights spread around her, she is listening to music I can hear through her headphones.
She is dedicated to her favorite things, she is finding her passion and spending years dedicated to it, she is sitting with you and listening in a way most people are not capable of. She is a dresser dedicated to her hobbies, she is a birthday party spent together, she is laughing with you about the things that sting.
He is staying with you even when you were not trying to get better, he is honest about everything, he is holding you from afar, he is loving every part of you. He is telling you little things about his day, he is sending you pictures of his outfit, he is drawing pictures of someone's cat.
He is listening and relating, he knows what this is like, he is continuing to climb even when it is an insurmountable mountain. He is talking about his husband, he is showing me things about the beatles, he is late night phone calls.
They understand, maybe more than anyone, they've been there and they lived to tell the story, they know how to sit with you because they are you. They are kind in a way most people aren't able to be. They are conversations held on bedroom floors, they are heavy conversations turned into airy ones, they are the feeling you get when you know you have come home.
They are laughing about the things that ache, they are a lovely response repeated time and time again, they are drawing and painting on a Sunday afternoon. They are bringing a sketchbook every time they come over, they are jokes that make the weight less of a load, they are going to thrift stores in October.
She is rambling about her favorite topics every time I see her, she is making you laugh even when you had put it past you, she is staying by you even when she shouldn't have. She is a room full of figurines and posters, she is a life dedicated to her favorite things.
She is kindness and honesty, she is sitting with you through it all, she is creativity and loving passion. She is helping you with your schoolwork, she is telling you about her favorite tv show, she is laughing with you about things that don't make sense.
He is telling you the truth even when it is not easy to sit with, he is daily phone calls and weekly meetings, he is giving you his time with the chance that you might figure this out. He is complimenting you for reading the words that are on the page, he is powerful moments had in restaurants and passengers seats, he is helping you find your way.

Daydreams
I'm standing in the kitchen washing the dishes, I'm in a chair at an AA meeting, I just laid my head down to go to sleep, I'm moving through life as I always do, when the thought emerges.
How would I tell them what happened? How would I explain it to him in a way that captures all it was without telling the story? What would I do if I saw him again?
I begin to wonder, an uneasy feeling settles into my stomach, a tenseness comes into my shoulders, but I don't have to think about this.
I don't have to hold onto this, there are hundreds of thoughts to entertain, dozens of daydreams within my reach. What will I think about today?
I can sit with my favorite actor, he can be anyone he needs to be, we can be in our own home. I can be any one of me. He can hold me, he can play games with me, he can listen to any story I need to tell him.
I can be with my boyfriend, we can talk about tomorrow, I can be a kid with him, I can cuddle him and hold his hand.
I can tell someone about my writing, about the reason each book is called what it is, I can ramble about what each period means to me, about the themes of every collection and the little things I do to integrate it into my life.
I can sit in an interview and talk about my life as an author, about how it feels to write things that people read, and how it feels to get the thing I wanted most.
I can be a kid again, I can walk through the toy aisles and sleep with stuffed animals. I can play in a way that feels right.
I can sit in my office and listen as someone tells me that they told me first, that I helped them through this, that in my office they feel safe.
I lay in my bed in a house of my own, it's not too big nor too small, it is colorful and artistic, things from the thrift shop linger in every room, here I am home.
I can sit with the kids of my own, kids who know that they are safe to be whatever they are, kids who are loved, kids who know daddy loves them more than words can express.

Letters to yesterday
It doesn't feel like you will make it to a day that feels breathable but you will.
You'll smile and you'll mean it, you'll find that those things you were so ashamed of are loved, you aren't the monster you think you are.
You won't want to die, you'll wake up with enough energy to cross items off on a to-do list, you'll feel joy, more than you ever thought you were capable of.
You'll get sober, you'll feel like yourself again, you will one day realize that you don't need a bag or bottle to be happy, you will experience relief from the obsession, you'll feel unruined.
Those memories that sit at the pit of your stomach will stop aching, you will know that you are more than this, the nightmares and flashbacks will cease.
Every piece of you will be seen and loved, you are not broken for being fragmented, everyone has a place to be.
You will write happy poems that are not hollow, happy poems that are genuine and full of life, you'll write poems about Sundays and sometimes the stories will have a happy ending.
That feeling of being stuck, that feeling of I'm-going-to-die-here will leave you, because you can be more than this and you are more than this.
You will love your boyfriend a little bit more every day, you will know that everything you are is what he wants you to be, he loves you despite, despite, despite. He loves you as you are.
That feeling of being far away will shrink, you aren't alone, you don't need to lie or pretend, you are loved as you are.

Sunday child
She opens the door before you step onto her front porch, she welcomes you in.
You walk into the house and say hi to him, he's a little shy but quickly he begins to talk as he always did.
He tells you he's five now, that he'll be six in a few years. He tells you that homeschool is going well. He tells you about going to the petting zoo. He tells you about his favorite video games and his painted nails, he tells you about how he's not scared of horror movies. He tells you that he is a talented artist.
You hand him small sheets of green paper "Draw yourself.' "Draw your family." "Draw your favorite toy." On each card he uses color pencils and crayons to draw his favorite characters and his sister.
He is a sweetheart, he is kind and attentive, he loves many things and many people, he wants to show you his toys and how he lays with the dogs.
He plays with your clay, he makes babybel cheese, you make a little mug.
You are sad to leave this sunny room, your heart is warmer than it was before you left.