Thursday night Christmas miracles with the mental crowd

by Elizabeth   Dec 22, 2017


It never quite feels like Christmas anymore;
Cynicism curb stomped the hell out of my hopes
And reality took a shit on my dreams.
So please excuse my lack of enthusiasm
For what is essentially the very first successful large-scale marketing campaign
And the celebration of the holiday-stealers who carried it out.

But calling out the catholic church as a whole
Has been done before, and everyone is just...
Like, really...
Ugh. Over it.

All hope for a better future dies in the land of the free refill
And our sons and daughters of liberty have been
Liberated from all sense of self.
Self-worth is the punchline to a joke
We can't recall the setup for anymore.
So what are we waiting up for?
Uncle Sam doesn't come home anymore
He's found a better crowd in the local bar
And they've made a habit of drinking themselves happy-
I wanna be happy, too.

I haven't heard every insult in the book
But you would think that I'm trying
The way this women is coming at me-
Vicious, ugly unchecked disdain paints her somewhat-less-saggy-than-an-almost-empty-garbage-bag face.
Happiness dies on her lips
And it looks like no warmth has ever touched her cold, dead doll's eyes.
"No wonder your children won't speak to you," I think.
What kind of person would actually say something like that?

Fact: I wanna crawl out of my skin and I think I could do it, too.
Another: I don't know how to appropriately respond to social interaction
Last one: eating alone is getting too depressing so I've forgone meals
One more: I could never tie someone else to this sinking ship of insanity
So maybe I should get used to the loneliness

Zombie-walking like some kind of survivor
I s-stumble my way out of my room.
Doing my best impression of a functioning human being
I leave the house
Because that is what normal people do.
Getting onto the train I think,
I should visit my friends
Because that is what happy people do.
Remembering the worthlessness and existential dread,
I dutifully return home
Terribly embarrassed I almost forgot them.
Turning to head back out I think,
I could just not.
So I don't.

Trapped inside of a box whose dimensions I've defined,
All I want is to lash out viciously and make my way out
And
if I don't do it
I'm afraid
I might not
be able to
breathe
But still I breathe.
It's the crashes like these that I dread.
When the desire to be free and unchained in a place where no one knows me
Is immediately followed by the desire to have never been.
My perpetual maybe-tomorrow prison
Feeds me on a steady diet of stress that gnaws tunnels through my consciousness
And only sleep contains the promise of
Temporary peace of mind.
I could just lay in here.
I could just be
in here.
For a little bit.

    report violation
3


Did You Like This Poem?

Latest Comments

  • 6 years ago

    by Brenda

    Elizabeth, a honest raw write, I want to thank you for sharing this. The false gaiety we must put on our faces during the holiday season is extremely taxing. You want to appear if all is ok while your insides are screaming at you to disappear. Well done-

  • 6 years ago

    by Milo

    Solitude described in a very sad but determined way, "still I breathe." The inner and most complicated battle of not being alone brings loss of hope, lack of identity and a shit load of anxiety, especially around people you so dearly want to be around but eventually it is the people you can't relate or people you need to get away from because anything and everyone is a reminder that loneliness is your only friend.

    "One more: I could never tie someone else to this sinking ship of insanity 
    So maybe I should get used to the loneliness

    Doing my best impression of a functioning human being
    I leave the house
    Because that is what normal people do.
    Getting onto the train I think,
    I should visit my friends
    Because that is what happy people do.
    Remembering the worthlessness and existential dread,
    I dutifully return home
    Terribly embarrassed I almost forgot them.

    When the desire to be free and unchained in a place where no one knows me
    Is immediately followed by the desire to have never been. 
    My perpetual maybe-tomorrow prison
    Feeds me on a steady diet of stress that gnaws tunnels through my consciousness"

    As if you were writing an ab initio book or series that explains the stages of volatility from being alone, it is hard to imagine how anyone would understand you from an outside perspective. But you written these emotions so well we can get a glimpse of the tar-like place that you come from in this poem. I can only imagine how difficult it might be to try to explain to your friends why you didn't hang out, I'm sure they think you are avoiding them. And the most difficult thing is to try to explain that you are not avoiding them, you are avoiding yourself. Because the prison is not the house or the social structure of human beings or your friends that make you feel this way, it's the convoluted emotions and feelings inside you. It's very brave to write and try to explain these emotions and still want fresh air and you want to breathe, especially around Christmas when everyone is expected to be around family and friends and be happy and festive when you don't want to be. Hope is your way out.

  • 6 years ago

    by C Cattaway

    Poetry. Making bitter better.
    I read the words, & heard the sentiment.
    Much love.
    Catherine x

Read All Comments (3)

More Poems By Elizabeth