The hardest identity to come out as is this one. I don't know why I should be ashamed. I get help for this. I talk to someone about this. I made this space. I can say what I need to here. Doing this does not make me sad. I only feel bad doing it when red gets places where its not supposed to be. It's the shaking I can't stand. The heart thumping. The shallow shallow breaths that come one after the other. The after and before. The fact that everyone else thinks this is not ok.
Do you ever forget to breathe for a second?
Your body tries to catch up with you.
I keep forgetting to breathe now.
I forget more than I should.
She thought this was cheating.
It is.
I tried to rationalize it as something else.
Smoking doesn't mean the same thing as this. Lovers smoke. Friends smoke. Moms and dads and babysitters smoke. This is like a drug, but there's no scene. There's no dirty coke bars, or raves, or parties. It's me and this, and all the bad poetry in the world won't fix it. I will try to breathe normally for you.
As soon as I hit post, I will feel guilty about all of this.
No comments:
Post a Comment