Sitting in the Dark, Peev’d Not Piss’d

I am experimenting here with a very simple idea–include overt stage directions in my poetry.  In the poem below I ask you to *inhale* first, read the poem, then *exhale*.  I am trying to capture the physical constraints I feel when I am living in my mildly dark depression.  For me, being depressed feels like I forget to breathe.  Of course, breathing is how I oftentimes wend my way out of the dark maze, hand on the sides, always turning left.

So follow the stage directions: inhale, read the poem silently, and then exhale. You are one small, embodied breath toward giving voice to your own astonishments.

 

*inhale*
Observing depression:
blackraspberry darkchocolate ice cream melting & I don’t care.

Anthems to be sung?
don’t care,
fresh book smell?
don’t care,
rocks to be turned over?
don’t care,
closure to be had?
don’t care.
rights to be uprighted, wrongs to be unwronged, wild ginger & blood root & ginseng & goldenseal & trillium & phlox to be seen & touchd?
I don’t care.

Can’t even b botherd 2 b irritatd,outragd or even
2 finish this..thing.
what I c when I b this..thing.
*exhale*

6 Replies to “Sitting in the Dark, Peev’d Not Piss’d”

  1. I get that fucking head going to explode thang.

    Been there too recently.

    Too vulnerable.

    Fortunately.
    Doesn’t always feel like
    Am alive.
    To know…

    You.
    Take care.
    Speak soon.
    I hope.
    S

  2. Dark
    Damp
    Dull
    Interminable

    A page turns
    Light – a glimmer
    I reach
    I cling on by my fingernails
    Finally, I find the sun

    Been in shite place for a long time. I think it might be over.
    Here’s hoping something helps you to find some solace.

    1. I hope your shite and my shite can make good compost. My solace will be embodied in the heat that whisps up from the stinking pile. I will flip it a couple of times, then it will be over. Actually…turned over, carbon being sequestered in bacterial and rhizomal splendor. Out of my hands and into the dirt.

  3. I held my breath
    my eyes skimmed the words
    blurring logic

    care returns
    when it’s needed
    by another

    don’t cares recede
    crushed daisies
    trounced under foot.

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