This Time Last Year
It is almost May again and I wonder if I’m doing better than I was this time last year,
Life is never that simple and I am never better because I say so,
I need to build my own umbrellas in the storms of my invisible rain.
At work we have “Mental Health Training” and I wonder why I need training when my life has been a crash course in anxieties, in mountains and valleys, so many I can’t count anymore,
Good days and bad days and all the in betweens.
I go every week to East Ninth Street to be honest with myself,
Put pen to paper and try to understand this thing I live with, every day.
I wonder if I’m doing better than I was this time last year.
This year, I am learning from last’s mistakes.
I am all right, and that is finally okay.
There is a book on my shelf.
It is worn and tired, my fingers have touched the pages so many times,
I’ve memorized the stories and my heart no longer jumps when I️ read the ending.
Years ago, it felt so fresh and raw.
Tonight I️ wonder when we all grew up.
I️ am thankful for who I️ am now.
I️ am glad you are a part of my bookshelf.
I️ am ready, finally, after all this time, to admit the things I’ve been scared to for so long.
Time heals all wounds.
St Johns Place
It is so quiet when the Franklin Avenue shuttle rolls past,
I push pause on a week’s troubles and sit here, my voice small and relaxed.
It is 1pm and Brooklyn streets are just beginning to wake up,
The sun shines between buildings and it feels good to let the warmth kiss my skin.
It is peaceful to seek out my calm again.
There is no balm for the heart,
Like sitting across the table,
Knowing we can come as we are,
Share our struggles over the same sangrias we share our joys.
Friendship is a beautiful thing.
They say when a door closes a window opens,
I stare out a second floor window on a floor full of exit signs and yet no way out.
Baby steps, I remember, and try to wear a smile and keep my laughter unguarded, protecting my heart.
Maybe I’m not meant to be given a window.
Maybe I’m meant to make my own.