During my transition from "then" to "now," I was afraid of an asterism. The little signals were everywhere--coffee mug drips stained into triangles, my Cheerios broke into tiny asterisks, my heart stopped, then beat again. The television static that peppers closed eyes formed alive pools of punctuation. I felt like Robert Frost, and caesuras were my spider.
Yet.
I'm still here.
Not just my body.
Me.
I'm proud to announce the progress of my awareness.
Yet
sleep is still a sticky sphere for me.
Death's cousin is depression's dominatrix.
Yet
the people that I love the most still scare me out of my skin.
Anxiety kills the filter of rationality.
Yet
today in lit class, while I savored the discussion, devouring thoughts like homemade pasta sauce
My own thoughts were clouded, clouded, clouded with the words: I need counseling.
I've decided that the best remedy is
living,
yet I have a lot to come to terms with.
There are still mute moments
but only he seems to notice.
Explanations are extraneous errands
but sometimes you have no choice.
It hasn't rained in a while
and I could snuggle inside
and brew tea
and eat toast with
raspberry enjambment
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