A hoot for the fighters

People live with a horde of conditions that are life threatening like cancers
Several live with other equally life threatening conditions.
For instance, depression.
But of course this has been quoted to you several times.
Over papers and internet, in person, probably?
And maybe you respond with a solemn nod, acknowledging without understanding or mutter, contending the statement - probably calling the world a place of wussies who can't deal with their own emotions.

Or perhaps, you are one of us. And you have lived with the condition for long and bravely so - because you live. You are strong.
You are a survivor.
And this war is nothing like the others.
You're fighting for yourself
The enemies within.
The mind that implodes
constantly burdening you
about your un-worthiness
how the world would be a
Much Better
place without you.
Constantly twisting life situations to support that stance
So, kudos to you
for being brave,
for fighting
even if no one asked you to
You are brave
You are strong
And maybe, you dismiss these phrases
And your mind may have begun
~yet again~
its savage travails
digging a deeper cavity
and piling on you
The weight of stupidity
The mass of unworthiness
that you begin to label yourself
But for whatever time you
have spent,
glancing and skimming through these words,
I am glad, you have
You are strong
You are brave
Your are a survivor
You can do this
Again.

Uninclined

I am not inclined to emotions,
to expressions
the way you are
or I have lately become less inclined.
And while you may gush over
your outpoured ministerings
they don't mean much
they don't affect my existence
they may minisculely
brighten my day
Although at the same time
I may remain aloof
about your absence
but inside I'm breaking
inside, I'm not even aware
because these walls
that have clogged too much space
haven't let anything to be felt
so whatever you show I mirror
without conscience
without second thought
Inklings
Waves of emotions
are only cold distant words
So lie upon my shoulder
sweet stranger
for I may listen
but I don't feel.

Stable

Stable is just a word
A relatively perciptable word
With hundreds of inconspicuous meanings
With hundreds of perceptions we make
with a million possibilities
a few probabilities
and the mind oscillates
from memory to memory
jumping the pendulum
overwhelming you
unreasonably
Skipping chapters you would enjoy
selectively like a sly critic
hitting your blind spot
with a tong of hot white
jumping you until tears
spring like from the
fountain of youth
shuddering as you do
to your very core
Finally you fall
The trigger is no longer there
But this tremendous episode
It has you convulsing
and you lose what little grip
on reality you had
Stable
what is that?

Always

Like every mislead person
in this world
I thought you made me happy
Or maybe you really did
I still remember that pure squeal that seemed to erupt
in me
the kind that you get
when on gigantic, overwhelming rides
in amusement parks
No, nothing else could explain
that internal squeal
not the dried fries
not the hostile hum of air-conditioning
Just you
despite how your chair
angled away from me
despite how busy you were
sipping your cola
making small talk to our friends
to notice my elbows skirt towards you
despite how much
how many times
I tried to deny to myself
that it was always you
Always.

Dear Santa.

Dear Santa
I'm not going to ask you for much this year. I never did as a matter of fact. Because you're a non existant legend created to our train children to be "good" to leake extra cookies stolen  by naughty children to boost sales to kale red and white a siezable combination to make everyone believe in flying deers with antlers to make all that was scoffed at accepted.
Well everything is alright now.  All kids are wonderful well-behaved.  Go back to being a story now. Stop the cash flow.
Merry Christmas to you too.

You

It is so difficult
To not let what you are
affect me
To adulterate what you are
into every cell of my being
Till I have lost myself
my very essence
To the very
to every aspect
of you that I fell
So steadfastly
In love with.
 

Midnight

Have you ever let midnight get to you?
The darkness
The shilloutes
that your mind makes
imaginary creatures of?
and you're scared and panting
suddenly it was a dream?
Suddenly you want to choke
Suddenly you want to die
but the very idea of death
scares you
So we are back to the forgotten shilloutes
the unnerving darkness.