There aren't many houses on my road, but they look lonely, whether it's the old wood fences, the overgrown grass or crumbling stone, the sun rises in strange ribbons and poetic arcs over them like a burnt orange eyeball, ready to shatter, I can't fail a review, but I failed the last workshop, I failed because I'm tired, I'm exhausted, and I didn't complete the tasks I was supposed to complete. My sister texted me earlier, she said she knows I am tired, and soon as I responded, she called, I knew she would, and again, there went an hour...I am supposed to rest and I never do. She saw a dead rat and a turd on the sidewalk, she said it was probably a human turd, I don't know how anyone can live there, but I feel like a dead rat and a human turd.
I will be passively lectured about the workshop next week, my commitment to my wellness will be questioned by a mental health professional, and I will respond how I always do, aloof and "crazy" to people who aren't even real to me, I will tell them cherries suit all the birds and nothing makes my heart happy, it's sick, and it's never gonna get better with your words, your workshops and your medicines, it doesn't matter how many daffodils I can plant in this word garden I'v created out of nothing, it's not real, this place isn't real, the person writing it is everything you think she is, and when she says nothing one day, don't be surprised, because she's telling you the most when that happens, because that's when you, even you will see bright crowds of flowers, maybe even for the first time, because most people don't notice things like that, it's the Heaven you chase, and you don't even notice it, the very shadows must hold their breath around some of you, I am glad I am not like you, home for me is far from home, it's far from me, it's not here, I've been to so many places, and it's not there either. It doesn't exist.