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The Lazy Dog Jumps over the Hopeless River of Anxiety

Poetry By: Kathleen Megquier
Poetry



Figure it out.


Submitted:Apr 24, 2012    Reads: 14    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   


I wake up feeling somewhat annoyed, I take look at what the day holds for me, simple creatures periodically working around the clock.

Everything for me goes at a comatose speed.

Dreaming inside the so crowded walls that confine every organ within me.

I've dreamt everywhere inside myself.

I've dreamt in my heart, my brain, lungs.

Everything that can fathom a pulse.

It doesn't change much when I awake.

Everything is still going, though the visuals are boring, it's still the same dream I envision each night.

Loneliness, Depression, Anxiety, Naïve, Hopeless.

My favorite friends were all there, they always attend my tea parties, my fruitful little gatherings.

They are my favorite creatures, they get what I am, and they embed themselves inside me while I'm awake.

They come to play while I sleep.

Fluff up my pillows before I dream.

Naïve takes great pleasure in elaborating these beautiful little stories about me and him having loving memories, what's happened in the past relinquished, Naïve is hoping to attend my wishful wedding.

Lots of sparkly cakes and pristine little glass stones, the theme hue pink.

Loneliness makes sure I only have him. He doesn't want much else for me, just that my whispers, my murmurs, the fear of being loved, the chance at excelling are always at the most darkest pits of myself that allows the most intense forms of dwelling to take place.

He makes sure that it's always him that comes after everything that ends before him.

To wipe my tears with a black silk handkerchief.

To stroke my hair, till his soft, soothing tone transforms to callous, reminding me like a dull elementary student that he is all I'll ever have, and to never forget it.

Anxiety is what pulses through me, she runs every single race with me, and the erratic behavior that consumes both of us would exhaust the most hyper of school children.

She makes sure my nails are bitten short, my lip always being jabbed with hungry teeth.

Almost in a sing song voice chanting that I am me and nothing more, that what makes me jive up, nerves shaken, shall always prevent this awakening I so desperately want to erupt within me, telling me to breathe, to step back and relax.

Depression always makes sure I'm well secure in my bed.

Helping me drop all the pillows and blankets over my head.

Every time I find a reason to leave my chains, my bed post, he reminds me that the world is cold, and the people chiller.

People are carnivores, they want to rip off your flesh and before devouring it, they want to make a side show out of your body and thoughts first.

It's best to just draw the currents close, dim any form of light.

Hopeless and I are the best of friends.

She'll braid my hair, tell me that I'm beautiful, and the moment I present myself to the world, or to him, we fall down together, but hoping to try again tomorrow.

He'll have to see that we two are brilliant, bright shiny orbs of light that he just wouldn't want to deny.

The rejection starts to feel like a daily dose of medicine that I need in my system to breathe.

I need to be denied, made out a fool. Because without it, where would Hopeless and I resort to?

My friends, they're what make me me. They tell me that what's what in the world, what can be devoured, what can stay secured.

Without the guidance without the devotion, who knows where I'd be?

Naïve she's sleeping close to me, hoping to become something brilliant over night.

I only wait for these silly dreams to come alive for another night.





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