“I’m in my garden planting, weeding or harvesting.” JD Butler
Most days I want to die.
My heart breaks
over the most
stupidest of things.
My thoughts tell me I am not
caring enough or
My brain tells me I’m too
My brain tells me to think
the worst of every situation, interpret every thing as an
I really shouldn’t take things so personally.
Others think I’m too
that’s why he told me I have no friends.
Most days I can’t stand it any more.
I’m too much of every thing or not enough.
I wish I was never born.
I’m ok on a good day, but I struggle. Demons,
in my waking hours, have a go at me for every-little-thing that ever was.
How, do I continue to survive?
Most days, I just want to die.
Some days I feel happy.
I’m in my garden planting, weeding or harvesting.
And I think about what else I want to do.
Money holds me back so I continue watering the garden.
Some days I feel optimistic.
I am convinced I’m going to get that job,
find that financial independence,
not go back to sex work although I miss it terribly.
Some days I don’t think about
I’m numb, but at least I’ve stopped
shaking in my boots,
jumping all over the place,
looking around every 5 fucking seconds
or wanting to run.
Some days I feel hope that I won’t
take my life
end up on the streets
be alone and lonely
have no friends
have no lover
or find love.
Whats wrong with me?
I live with trauma, fuck up daily and behave like a bitch –
and I dont think I can be fixed
Some days I’m OK.
I try not to let the voices win. I try to
bite my tongue
shut my mouth
hold back tears
try my best
please my man
and stop complaining.
I try not to wait for the end, although I push everyone away – my deluded saving grace
is more likely cutting off my nose, to spite my face.
Some days I think I will survive.
But most days, I still want to die.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved