“How did I get here?

How did I get here?

It’s sad but it’s true

How society says her life is already over

Nothing to do

And nothing to say”

ODEZA, How did I get here

Sometimes I’m so tired, weary through my bones and my skin, all the way through to the core center of my being. I tell myself everyone has nights they can’t sleep, can’t shut their minds off, worries down
recycled thoughts over and over.
I tell myself I have Mother’s work to start, and a spouse, and home , and a job and we’ll rest later. But we never do.

Then it’s 8 am. and my stomach growls, and she’s screaming because we’ve been up and going and moving but I haven’t fed her and I’ve got so much to do, lunches to pack and ones who need care and I tell myself we’ll eat later, when there’s time, and I pour more coffee and it keeps her quiet so I can just THINK and keep moving but

now somehow it’s later, ever so much later and she’s howling again, threatening to throw up the nothing in my stomach’s abyss, but how did it get so late and where did all my minutes go?? I keep looking behind but the train is moving so fast and I tell myself I’m sorry, here’s a snack because we’re so close to dinner now, and how did this happen and I promise I won’t do this again. But I’ve told myself that so many times that I really don’t believe.

Sometimes when I look in the mirror, no make up tired skin I tell myself that I’d be so much better without these fine lines and dark circles and I wonder to myself how much better it all was before.
The before before when I told myself all these other things were wrong but how naïve I was for it was so much better then. I tell myself not to dwell on faces and things we cannot change.

Sometimes when people are breaking my heart with their words and their sighs, the subtleties’ between the action and the vibration, I tell myself to take it, to brush it off to eat it and send it down down to the place within, where it all goes to dump and sit. I tell myself not to be too sensitive, that people have bad days, and we really shouldn’t judge and I understand over and over and over again.

I tell myself to get over it.

There are days that are long, infinite minutes of hurt and stress where I feel the tug. The tug of the Universe, the undertow in expanse of life eternal taking over and dragging me under, pulling and pushing in surges, and I tell myself to hold fast because God knows this storm will break too.
I tell myself, as I pick through the rubble of the latest devastation, overseeing damage and picking up the planks to start rebuilding, that I’m to blame. That my weakness and ill preparedness and damn daydreaming is what caused all the mess and I tell myself to try harder and to just color between the fucking lines but I know myself, and I know I can’t no matter how hard I try.

I’m a square peg in a round holed world, and I tell myself and tell myself and I try to shave my edges- but no matter how much I grind
and polish they always come back jutting and scratching and causing problems.
Sometimes I wonder to myself why I don’t love myself, don’t cheer for myself- what could I ever have done to cause such anger? Such animosity.

So quietly I listen; inwardly I listen, to the voices and the words and the malicious murmurs ringing in my ears and I tell myself that those whispers aren’t my own. They are mutterings from narrow road insecurities
festering demons from infected minds.
I’m starting to listen to myself, to sit with myself
reading quietly by myself, enjoying music

and the silence

and the wind and the trees and the colors, waves in the ocean and the beats through the speakers and I tell myself I can turn the music all the way up if I want.

Because my playlist is fire.

Well that’s what I tell myself.