Poetry

A letter to those struck by the loneliness of December

"Flowers in december" © Daniel Horacio Agostini, 2009. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Flowers in december” © Daniel Horacio Agostini, 2009. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
I tear out pieces of my heart.
Leave them like bread crumbs.
They will show you the way back.
Proof
at least one person
feels like you.

We don’t know how to fill those spaces.
Tried booze
and drugs.
Food
and lack-thereof it.
Razor blades
and perfect strangers. Continue reading →

Mental Health

Source

"Nail in the Fence" © Grant Frederiksen, 2014. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Nail in the Fence” © Grant Frederiksen, 2014. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
“You have a really strong core. Great muscles in your lower back and shoulders. It’s just that a lot of them are holding things kinda, you know, in the wrong place.”

He spent thirty minutes trying to get parts of my anatomy I never learned the name of to release my left shoulder. Let it fall down, shift back. Slide into the place it used to reside. Before the motorcycle crash. Before I started leaning on it while studying, reading, writing. Before I forgot how to relax. Continue reading →

Relationships

Hunger

"Organic Onions" © Susy Morris, 2009. CC BY-NC 2.0.
Organic Onions” © Susy Morris, 2009. CC BY-NC 2.0.
I spent the morning handing out produce at a food bank downtown. Wrapped up in scarves and gloves we curved up our mouths at hundreds, making eye contact and conversation. “Just be warm and welcoming,” our volunteer coordinator told us. What that really means is, “Just acknowledge their humanity.”

Hungry. Not just their bellies. They want someone to see them. Someone to let them know that they’re noticed. They matter. They’re still worthy human beings.

Never in my life have I wondered where my next meal would come from. There were weeks when every meal was Top Ramen and cigarettes, but the meals always existed. I always had the luxury of being more concerned with my monthly booze budget. I made the decision to focus on getting high or drunk over getting fed, but always got fed anyway. I’m thankful for that. But I know the other kind of hunger. The kind Bruce Springsteen sings about. The one that volunteers and donation centers can’t combat. Continue reading →