Tag Archive: struggles

Wishes and Wildflowers

The stars are out tonight; tiny pinpricks of wishes held inside balls of fire, thrusted into the sky by the hearts of the broken. Tears that have pushed their way past my tightly squeezed eyelids are reflecting off the universe as their owner, exhausted, begs for the strength to keep moving. How many gods do you pray to?

Some days it feels as if I am living in an alternate reality. A maze of fuzzy outlines that direct a script which I cannot memorize and I’ve found that my body can only take so much pretending. All this running around trying to be anyone else but who I am supposed to be has left me with a pounding heart and short of breath. I am out of shape with myself.

This year will be different. Laughter will bloom from my lips; a wildflower bouquet. When I think of wildflowers, I think of an open field with me in the center, arms outstretched and twirling in circles. I think of my head lifted up toward the sun and how light my body would feel unencumbered by the weight of all this pressure. I am floating.

But loneliness creeps in when the sun sinks below the horizon again; a silent blanket. My thoughts fill the darkness with anything but the truth. A relief to be out of sight from curious eyes, but so alone that billions of people turn into one. I have a love/hate relationship with the pitch black of night.

It is here I stumble upon myself again, covered up in the dark. I have lit up countless midnight skies with my tears. These wishes that cling to the hope that one day their fire will merge into a blazing sun and I will finally find myself in that field, filling it with wildflowers.


Winter Flower

It is quiet tonight
The icy breath of winter has claimed her hold
A frozen snapshot
Of a land once green with vibrant life
Do you think a flower knows
It will only bloom in the heat of the sun?
Does it know that in order to grow again
It will have to give itself back to the soil?
What I wouldn’t give of myself
So you could have your future
No matter how hard
The anxiety makes my heart pump
It can never beat fast enough
To bring you back
Tears that fall at your grave
Cannot make you grow into existence
I know this, because I’ve tried
I would hold my breath for eternity
If it meant your lungs could breathe instead
The stark cold silence of winter nights
Leave me awake to count sheep
But my mind can only count reasons
Of how unfair this life can be
The restlessness of a thousand ants
Course through my limbs
And no matter how fast my feet are going
I cannot out run them
You see
The thing about the quiet is
Anything is possible
But anything doesn’t always mean good


This is something that I have been working on for a little while now. I wanted to read it, but I couldn’t make it through the whole thing without breaking down. This was the healthiest way I could get out what I have been feeling since October when my grandpa died on the same day as a friend committed suicide. Emotions are complicated and grief is no exception. For those who are struggling with the same things, this is your trigger warning. Thank you for reading, and I understand if you can’t. Sending so much love and positivity to my friends and family.



I got out of bed today.
I did my best to leave the demons behind on my pillow.
The ones who wage a constant battle in my dreams,
With their swords of anxiety and worry, clamoring and clanking
Coinciding with my restlessness.
I left the house today.
I did my best to weld together a thick armor.
In an attempt to protect myself from things no one can see.

I cross the days off my calendar with a fine tip green sharpie and a ruler.
It’s been almost 4 months since I forgot how to breathe.
If I were being truthful, it probably started much earlier, only now, too much has happened.
Except death isn’t something that ‘happens.’
It’s something that stops things from happening.
It is lives that are gone and futures that are stolen.
It’s lungs that no longer expand and eyes that cannot see.
Death stops things.
What I am learning about grief is that it is uncontrollable and unpredictable.
The scent of a fire sends me back to when camping meant dirty feet and golf cart rides.
Where grandpa would dance to country radio and teach us to play cards.
It takes me back to before and makes me watch, knowing what will happen next.
Yellow makes me think of the gown I had to wear when I kissed you goodbye.
It is inescapable and I am frozen.
Grief finds me in a picture online or a song lyric while I am driving.
It seeks me out at work when a coworker jokingly says he should kill himself.
He doesn’t know that his words trigger the grief.
He doesn’t know that even though I am looking at him, all I can see is a casket.
That while he is speaking, all I can hear are sobs echoing off the caverness ceiling of a church.
Cries from friends and family for a man who never made it out of his twenties.
Looking at my coworker, I am frozen.
Afraid to move or speak out of fear of losing my carefully placed armor.
Grief is confusing.
It’s not knowing who I am crying for today.
Whether the tears that are staining my pillow are for those we buried or for those the buried  left behind.
Some days it’s knowing that I am crying for both and I am frozen.
I’ve always been known as the sensitive one.
And lately it feels as if Niagara Falls lives on standby in my head.
With the tiniest  provocation, the waterfall will pour out of my eyes, leaving proof of my softness streaked and stained down my cheeks.
My instinct is to be strong for me, for my husband, but my body is not my own right now.
It is  held captive by fear and sadness and it leaves me frozen in place.
I am still trying to just push what I feel away.
Separate these emotions from my day to day,
But these feelings are like strings and each one I have swallowed has become twisted and knotted in the pit of my stomach.
Turning sour, like an ulcer; eating away from the inside out.
I cannot move.
Some days I don’t understand what is wrong with me.
I think that enough time has passed and I should be moving on from this stage.
But I am frozen.
Maybe, with time, I can grow out of these feelings.
Like the clothes of my childhood that no longer fit the awkward shape of my teenage body.
Maybe I can remove them from the closet of my soul and pack them neatly away in a box.
Mark it for goodwill and drop them off in hopes that someone else could benefit from them.
But grief is not something I can just pack away.
It is a shape shifter, constantly taking new form.
It steals the breath from my body and I have to fight the urge to gasp for air.
It’s holding me hostage inside my head and some days it locks me inside my home, frozen.
This invisible monster has taken up residence inside barely leaving room for me.
My body is holding this grief like a balloon captures air.
Filling and stretching until I can no longer contain the pressure.
How is one person supposed to manage this pain?
My happy has turned its back on me.
My shoulders carry the weight of people gone too soon.
And my bones are supporting this guilt that wont leave me alone.
My tears aren’t always my own, and I don’t always understand the anxiety in my chest.
The demons from my dreams always find their way back to me,
Looking for war when I just want one moment of peace.
But they are relentless.
Constantly showing me how fire turns memory into ash.
Or putting me inside the darkness of a wooden box.
Where it is dirty and cold and I am frozen.
I am always frozen.
So I cross the days off my calendar with a fine tip green sharpie and a ruler.
One precise line from top right to bottom left.
Visually marking the passage of time.
I hope one day this will trick my mind to unfreeze my body, and let me step forward.