Insomnia

Volume 1

12:49 am, August 21st, 2010.
Music
Is what keeps me sane,
Nowadays.
Its consistency
(Always flowing,
Never changing,
A steady drumbeat in sync
With my own heart)
Is far better than that
Of my friends.
(Do you even
Bother
To think about
Me anymore?
Probably not.)
Some
Mad part of me
Actually wants
To go back to school,
If only because
I’ll see you more often.

(I always feel
Pathetic
After writing poetry about you.)

11:13 am, August 22nd, 2010.
I’m still
Terrified
Of high school -
Scared of
Losing myself
In a sea of people
Trying to find themselves.
(Truth be told,
I actually like the way I am
Most days.
Other days
Are still to be decided.)

1:37 am, August 24th, 2010.
One of the upsides of going back to school:
I wear myself out enough
That I can actually
Sleep well
Once in a while
Instead of going to bed
And waking up
Exhausted.

1:01 am, August 30th, 2010.
I’ve remembered, recently,
Why I stay up so late.
Everything is just so much
Clearer
When the only thing I have to do
Is worry about myself –
I can work out my issues
The way I want to, and
It’s so much
Easier
To accept things
When no one else is around.
(The only person I have to
Lie to
Is myself.
I pretend that I can
Handle that.)
(I can’t,
But maybe that’s why
I like acting.)

12:11 am, November 15th, 2010.
I don’t make friends very
Easily –
Something to do with my
Compulsive anti-social introverted streak,
Or some nonsense like that.
I wonder an
Awful lot
What it would be like
If I actually
Got over my
Oppressive shyness
And started up a
Conversation
Once in a while.
(I used to try,
But nowadays I just can’t see the
Point.)
I envy the people who
Can make a
Swift transition
Into friendship, as though they know
Everyone
And can connect so
Painlessly.
(It doesn’t just sting –
It burns.)

Volume 2

Premonition.
I tilt my glance at you and you turn to smile at me
(a sandstorm shifting grains, and have your eyes always been that color?)
(I don’t know, I’ll have to do more research)
and something in my chest tightens up,
holding my breath and I can
feel
my heart beating so fast,
waitingwaitingwaiting
for you to lean forward and kiss me,
and I can
see
it happening, can almost
taste
the Diet Coke still left on your lips
but you look away again
and I left out the breath,
(slowly while my chest finally uncoils, and can you hear my heart racing?)
(part of me hopes so while the other half desperately prays you can’t)
and my smile’s a bit sad now,
But there’s always tomorrow.

Sociopath.
(noun):
a person with a
personality disorder
manifesting itself in
extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior
and a lack of
conscience.
(I honestly
Want
To be your friend –
I just don’t really care
About anything you’re saying.)

Atelophobia.
(noun):
the fear of
imperfection,
of not being
enough.
(I can’t even look at
old photographs
the yearbook
your smile
without thinking
You’re too good for me
or
I wish I were better
or,
on those not so very good days,
maybe this is all I’ll ever be.)

Paranoia.
(noun):
suspicion and
mistrust
of people or their
actions
without evidence or justification.
You smile at me and
I wonder
why?
what do you want?
The worst part?
I don’t even know
who lost my trust so much
And brought me down this far.
(However,
When it comes to guys,
I have a pretty freaking good
Jerk radar.
One of the few perks that
Comes with the job,
I guess.
I wonder if I could negotiate
For a dental plan?)

Overexposure.
It happened a little
slower
this time,
coming in waves
(washing over me
like the tides, quietly
smothering
me until it was
almost too late to
resurface):
My eyes fall shut
And I breathe
(in out in out)
until I can pick out every noise
(the subtle scratch of my mother’s pen against her checkbook
the tap tap tap of the heel of a shoe against linoleum, walking to a different bit of store
the whirr of the ceiling fan, churning out heat
the high whine of the toddler behind us in line, crying out for attention
my own blood rushing through its veins and beating out against my skin)
it builds up in my ears and I
can’t even hear my own
thoughts
(it’s not even something that I
plan –
can’t do it right if I’m
thinking
about it.
I’ll be daydreaming a bit,
wandering through my own thoughts,
wondering if
there’s some way to
escape
and then it’s there,
not so much a giant red button as
a light switch
flicking off,
and then
Nothing)
and my nails press themselves into the palms of my hands
(there would be marks if they were longer
but I can still feel where the small white crescents would be)
my spine seizes and
my lungs hitch up and I can’t even
breathe
until I hear the
“Are you sure that’s not the right phone number”
from my mother to the cashier
and I’m
snapped back,
reclaiming myself with a soft
“Try the house number”
(It’s the small things that save you.)

Demons (and not the cool Buffy types).
I get really
Self-loathing
When I can’t sleep.
Things like
If you don’t lose 50 pounds you’ll never get a boyfriend
And
You’ll always be an introvert, just give up
And
He’s never going to forgive you
Flit through my brain at
Top-speed
When I’m trying
(so hard)
To slow myself down
And attempt to sleep.
Sometimes people ask me
Why I’m always so tired,
Why I don’t try to sleep more.
It’s because I literally
Can’t
Sleep –
Sleeping leads to
Thinking
And thinking leads to
Pain.
I only sleep when I’m
Exhausted
So that I don’t
Have time to think
Before I dream.

Sociopath & Overexposure, Act II
Finally figured out what’s wrong with me,
The other day at
A memorial service.
I’m not a
Sociopath,
But I
Want to be.
I just
Feel
Too much
All the time,
Feeding off of everyone’s
Turmoil
Giddiness
Depression
Feelings
To the point where I
Can’t
Tell which feelings are my own anymore,
To the point where I want to
Cut myself off from
Everything
And not give in to my little
Panic attacks
That aren’t real enough to be a
True disease.
If I were a sociopath,
I wouldn’t have to feel them at all.

Trust.
I’m actually a little
Hesitant
To turn this project in.
I always write poetry just a little bit too
Personal
And chicken out last second,
Turning in something that’s
Just as good
But much more
Removed
From myself.
(There’s still actually quite a lot that I’ve
Edited
From these –
Lines that cut a little bit
Too close to home and
Whole poems about
The first time I really
Hurt
Someone emotionally
Who I cared about.
There’s even a three-page letter
About Bye Bye Birdie
Cooling itself on one of my backburners
That I don’t think I’ll be
Sharing
For a very, very long time.)
However,
This is still the most
Soul-baring
Thing that I have ever
Turned in as an assignment.
When I hand it in,
It’s not just
A few (or eight) pieces of paper
Stapled (albeit poorly) together –
It’s my heart in my hands,
Nervous and somewhat
Relieved
To (finally) get this off my chest.

Closure.
File,
Print,
Breathe.





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