anti-poem

 its all so horrible.

people are being killed or killing themselves

and the ones who are alive are dieing inside from all the suffering.

they are stagnant and their minds grow nettled and stiff

or short circuit from hyperdrive.

sometimes it seems like the only people that are okay are the people that are terrible,

and they are not living right. no maybe their happiness is a weapon of jealousy.

this is not to say i am not happy.

i am happy. but i freeze so easily.

i lose who i am and who i want to be so often.

i forget about the people who care about me.

i forget the rules that keep me sane. the routine of good.

and then i sink back into it. its so horrible. so horrible!

they're dying on the news. i see it when i'm checking on my alive friends on the internet. i see it on the ticket screen at the dmv. i see it in the final publication of printed press covered in footprints. i see it behind my eyelids. they rarely show the blood, and when they do, i cannot process that it was blood. or, more accurately, i refuse the process that it's blood. maybe the good people i know who believe they are bad are right. maybe we cannot be good and sane. because if we didn't refuse to process i think most of us might join the bloodied. 

so i'll stand then sit then stand again. i'll tie my shoes then untie them then tie them again and walk out the door and get on my bike and get off my bike and move from one place to another. and i'll live and be a bit selfish, because that's how we move forward. i'll get on my bike and walk in the door and untie my shoes and pause and look out the window and breathe slow and sit down and stand up and cry and laugh and sometimes even scream. i'll do all those things. and it'll be okay, because it'll be okay. when the plums fall to the floor and bruise we will wash them and cut away the spots. and we will eat them without apology. i am not sorry i ate that cold plum! and neither should you be. when the sky gets dark before the day was properly done we will sleep and try again the next day. when we think we are unlovable we will say, 'would you like to eat this plum with me?', and nothing more. and we will sit. and be silent. and the isolation. will melt. and we will live our lives and eat our cold, unapologetic plums. under the tree. where they grew. together.