reclamation of rhythms

I was upset. Unbalanced. You’re as moody as I am, she told me, and I’m bipolar. Have you thought about medication? All I wanted was to get out of here, and for a fast and uncomplicated transition. No submerging into my own introversions. No dizzying intoxications. Minimal stress and panic. Once settled I could go back to being unsettled. I tried to cherish the morning. I tried to read a book. I offered to watch over the kids of divorced parents next door. I tried and failed. Someone wanted my heart. To consume it. Jagged rocks ahead in the mist. She told me, you have no control over your life. She’s right. I don’t know how to say no. I drop everything important to me for nothing. Why? I have lost any cadence. I am in a sorry state. And this is why I am heading for the dead center of the city in the north where, inside its industrial rhythms, my own I may reclaim. 

by  #katyamills from [July 14, 1998] journals

twice as nice

once upon a cloud
feeling rather proud
all accounts break even
children awful loud

you cracked the piggy open
eyes as wide as coins
the exclamation spoken
iowa! des moines

a hundred silver dollars
in bed with porcelain
you lifted up your collar
to hide the widest grin

each child given two
and told not what to do
one was twice as nice
another not a clue

what remained then was invested
in reclamation of
the sky

to turn her
back from black
to blue

journal. march seven

We hung on to the social medias lookin for compadres, someone who got us, who felt what we been through, so we could identify and reclaim our forgotten selves. our standard was downgraded to substandard. we were told our employ of social medias was a worthless trade and destined to further alienate us. why would we let them take us? why then let go, to fall on an easy clawed at chair of fake news? we held on tight, we lashed our wrists to the planks and spun around slow in electric current, just the same. we were hard-headed creatures not easily concussed. our hearts then soft, thawed into spring.