Residual | 116am

It's been a while since I have been awaken late at night with the desire to write a poem.  This one came after a very disturbing sleep and reminder of the worst paranoia I ever experienced in my life 3 years ago.  Tonight I watched a movie about a female rapper taking poetry 101 in college and I fell asleep when they were explaining that poetry needs to be about real life experiences.  Well, My blog, poetry, photography and drawings are all my expressions of real life, I no longer fear sharing my story.  I should come with a disclaimer because most people think its awesome until they think what I write is about them.  My stories, my poems are just my experiences. 

"Do not think you can be brave with your life and your work and never disappoint anyone. It doesn't work that way."  -Oprah Winfrey

In the past there was no way I would ever express the paranoia I had about bugs crawling through my skin, why would I, I knew it had to be a combination of the stress, drugs and alcohol.  But think about how embarrassing it would be to go through that type of paranoia in sobriety.  I don't get that feeling often but every once and awhile it's intense and I finally opened up about it, the response from some people were ok and others really understood.  But tonight with the scene at a poetry slam I realized that its also part of my life that I need to express.

Its 2:09 am and I'm wide awake, in Bali where I'm surrounded by bugs and often get smacked in the face by a bee, moth, spider and might have actually swallowed a bug or two by accident in my sleep.  Thank God I'm sober because I would be freaking out 24/7 alone but trying to act tough.  Anyway, Hope you have a little context to understand my poem a bit.  This is for all the people still struggling to figure out what is real or not and that the ones that need medical help, hoping they find someone that understands and can help treat them.  

Residual

I toss and turn my mind races

But it’s the physical discomfort that traces the past

The thoughts of pins and needles and invisible things crawling

Disturbing my every move

How can I stay focused on growing

Trapped by the things that don’t exist or might exist

Too scared to ask anyone

—-Is it real

I learn and train myself to ignore the invisible

And days and days, months and months, years and years go by

Each moment easier like the thing that didn’t exist that might have existed no longer exists.

I strip my clothing, my belongings, my thoughts that were a part of your time and I’m free.

Until,

You return

The residual flows back in with no warning

Flooding my thoughts of how it was

But how can it be if it never was

...or was it.

That thing that didn’t exist, that I thought existed that I convinced myself couldn’t exist

Might actually be,

And I still don’t know what you are or what you can be

And I’m still too scared to ask

So I wait, minutes and minutes, hour and hours, days and days

Until you go further away

I turn on the light

And ask why the reminder, what is it that I need to be aware of? and please stop it,

Ok I get it, I’ll write 

Because someone else might not make it through a moment like this. 

So I’ll write, at 1 am or 4 am

But I’ll write, because writing makes you exist for minutes and minutes, maybe hours and hours, but not days or years. 

Mucho Love,  Jamie

One Day At A Time