Poetry

i put my forehead to god’s and tell him:

I think I’m a little more disabled than I’d thought

My therapist said I was being enmesh-y

Oh Pharmacist, I stand before you ready to receive the Eucharist of possible side effects

after i enter the bathroom, i lock the door behind me.

He runs back and forth along the fence, barking at people of whom he’s unsure.

Since the April you left us, you took the spring blooms with you.

no one tells you that your first (hypo)manic episode reaches its peak in a middle school / first year teaching / fresh off a “medical leave”

When you feel the impossible breathing down your neck you’re on the right track.

there is sometimes nothing more than enduring.