It started with love

I've developed an addiction

it started with love

I learned to love it
because I was surrounded by it,
loneliness.

It was a true love
I reveled in it
I wrapped myself in it
and cuddled it until I was warm
I overindulged
eager to drown in it


until I started to drown in it

now it owns me
I no longer have the power to leave it behind

it strangles
me

wakes
me
in the night

keeps me from
sleeping
keeps me from
breathing

but
I find myself

yearning
for it's
numbing touch

like
death
or
casual sex

draining

I am
addicted
imprisoned
lonely

Note To Self

You know.

You always know.

Within a few moments,

a laugh, a story,

a touch,

you know how you feel.

You know because somewhere between your gut and your spine there's a warmth,

then a tug,
soft, and unmistakeable,

yanking your checklist right out of your hyperactive mind,

in the wake of expectations you find

insecurity,
and hope,
and excitement,
and all your butterflies, dancing to the sound of new beginnings.

It doesn't happen often,

but each time it has you've never second guessed it,

you've never had to ask yourself how you feel,

you've never had to convince yourself of the persons merits

or tilt your head to see their face at a different angle in hopes of sparking something more.

Stop trying to talk yourself into this feeling,

stop trying to sell yourself short,

because I love you, and you deserve more than maybe,

or "I should"

or "I wish I did"

or even "maybe I could."

Stop trying to convince yourself that you don't know yourself well enough to know.

You always know.

Queen of Okay

I pose the biggest threat

(to myself)

when I'm feeling out of

control;

like,

my "evil twin,"

the slice of myself

I worked so hard to imprison

so long ago,

(yet only yesterday)

is again gaining 

power...

making decisions for me.

She is a danger to me

and my desperation to regain 

control...

even more so.

I am at war with myself

again

as she moves to rise

and I scramble to suppress

like a losing game of

chess.

Every time before

I was able to minimize 

casualties

but we were both young then...

I have grown tired...

and she's had all that time to rest...

Pulse

I have a Pulse
it's racing
I am angry

I am angry at the culture which has bred hate
so strong
it was willing to take as many live as it had bullets,
which,
thanks to the nauseating apathy of these people,
my people,
was a lot of fucking bullets.

I am angry that the people who have stoked this fire
still, now,
work every moment to breed more hate, blaming
entire groups
for the acts of singular men, allowing them to falsely
represent
who we call "their people."

This country has a Pulse
we are a living, breathing populous.

We are not numbers,
we are lives.

We are not names
we are not hashtags
we are not a trending issue
or a headline

we are lives
we have hearts
we have hopes, dreams, faith, fear, anger, love
a heartbeat
a Pulse

An Acquired Taste

Somehow
black coffee
has it's very own sweetness
like
melancholy
for those who can taste it

and somehow
beautifully bitter
melancholy
like coffee,
but burns cold.
is somehow refreshing
with it's very own sweetness.

Consumer

My name is Meghan
and I am an addict

therefore
the perfect consumer

a true American

feeding the capitalist monster

through an IV

linking my veins directly to it's mouth
to gain access to

alcohol, caffeine, antidepressants

music, movies, art,

love


I am an addict
we all are
and addicts are easily manipulated

Offering

She stands,
chest
hollow,
heart in hand,
bleeding
out,
offering its uneven beat
to
every passerby
eagerly.

The rain
makes
everyone look
pale
so no one notices
the pallor
of drowning desperation.

So eager to love
and be loved
willing to face the eternal dark
for a moment
of pure
light.

It's starting to seem
like she may die waiting.