Dense

Stuttering validation
Shortness of breath
I am
Pressing our souls
Together like hands held
In content and contempt

Tenderly laying me to rest
Your smile is betrayed
By the pity in your countenance
My heart and eyes are heavy
I would rather leave
But I keep pushing

I’m okay

I’m not well, but I’m okay I guess
Just a trickle of whispers adding to my troubled existence
A constant tug to shoot all of my sorrow out
But I’m not sure if that’s what I want to talk about
Maybe for a moment instead talk about the growth in mental health
Bloodied knuckles that have racked against that door to a better self
I have a schedule now, items to keep myself busy and on track
I am not without motivation but it takes concerted effort of which I fear I lack
But growth is not a series of uninterrupted steps to the end
It’s faltering through a looped and winding road of memories
Waking up further back than I was, clawing at the dirt hoping for remedies
I’m getting better and clearer
But I don’t think happiness is much nearer
There’s a good chance it might be
But I worry that I’ve plucked out my eyes and I’m wandering blindly
Guided by a numbed sense of touch and a nose filled with ash
I do hear well though, not just the whispers but faint laughs in cache
Playing louder or softer down different paths so I try to find it’s crescendo
I’m not honestly sure if it’s progress or just an echo
Waking up is becoming less and less of a tragedy every day
I’m not well but I’m okay