I’m not ok.

And I’m repeating the mantra “it’s ok to not be ok”, and all the while I’m still asking myself: But is it?

So much has happened. 

Is happening.

Still needs to happen.

Sometimes I wonder if curses are real. 

Or if the stories in the Bible are actually true. Perhaps like Jonah, I should jump out of the boat to save everyone else inside. 

At best, I’d like to find a wee corner and wait out the apocalypse.

Quiet

I’m not sure what is wrong with me
but something clearly is;
through skin so thin I see the wind
bubbling up like gin fizz.

I’m not sure what’s wrong or what’s right
and no feelings surprise;
I feel like I’m dead and hollow--
my body a disguise.

I suppose I know this is real
by my response to life—
“deadpan” gets a brand new meaning
when I am keeping strife

with everyone and anyone 
who thinks to come my way;
angry-tongued I slash at those dear
until I’m wished away.

So here in the quiet I sit
with silence as my guide
while people still call out my name—
if only I could hide.

--Carla Jeanne Picklo Jordan