it’s almost as though familiarity is the one thing my being is rejecting,

the smallest doses of happiness even
choke me,
im not even being poetic-
they actually do,
happy was what i felt at home and
home isn’t
what i have anymore
and its as though
that thought attacks my lungs before i can even process what im feeling
because the only thing i understand is

i cant breathe
i felt at home for a second
and now i cant breathe
i dont understand

and thats about when my mind starts to frantically make sense of the situation

“werent you just happy?”
“why cant you let yourself enjoy things?”
“you get anxious about your sadness and about your happiness, what sense does that make?”
“stop crying in public”
“for fucks sake stop hyperventilating”
“just please stop”
“dont you want to be happy?”

the only response i have to my inner monologue is
i do
i want to be happy
i want to make a home out of this unknown place
and the only thing i know how to do is
try to breathe

so thats what im going to do
until “the place i live in now”
becomes “home”.

 

early april 2017

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