I feel like I'm a train wreck waiting to happen
Like my rails have been slowly slipping for days.
I am concealed by a green forest facade.
Hiding loose nuts and bolts in the trees hoping no one will look.
I am a train.
I move from destination to destination. I pick up people who will only want to get off at the next stop. I shake, I creak, I screech from years of no maintenance and blunt force trauma- you don't see what's happening but it's happening, it's happening, it's happening inside my head.
Some days
I feel like jumping off a cliff and landing in a world where the existence of my name will only be mentioned with the prefix: remembering.
Then I am reminded to remember...
To remember that they made tools to tighten, because things that are broken can be fixed.
Then I remember that I am a person living with an illness. That I am sick, but I am not a train about to explode-even if that's how I feel, like, all the time.
I remember that going home once in a while to hug my brothers and my sister and my mom isn't such a bad idea.
And then I do.
And when I do, I remember what it feels like to love someone so much that instead of taking a bullet for them, you lower the gun away from your skull, take it back to the shop and pray to God no one else buys it for the same reason you did.
I remember what it feels like to function even when there are obstacles.
I hope that when my name is mentioned it is followed by a suffix of many things: Smiles, healing, love, and progress.
When you want to fix your problems- don't buy a gun
don't take leaps that end in nothing...
buy a tool kit
And get to work.
