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The Last Poem/Anatomy of a Heartbreak

I sincerely hope you're as miserable as I am

i have to learn how to wean my body off you

like a babe quitting it's mother's milk

You're everywhere, bleeding into my poetry

my music, my reading

I have to alter my chemistry to rid me of you.

I have to cut out your marks out of me

I have to shave my head and watch for new growth

I have to break my teeth and grow in the new

I have to bruise my heart, squeezing you out of it

but when it's done I'll be free of you and

this is the last poem I'll write about you

the very last.

Tesse.

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often the choice comes down to eat a meal and shower or kill yourself

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love watching odysseus fluctuate violently between suicidal depression and all-consuming homicidal fury like look at him go

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poseidon: you can't kill me

odysseus: you've forgotten a very important piece of information - I am completely fucking insane

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I used to be 21 but now I'm 24. so you can understand why I'm so freaked out

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One day we'll talk about how Lily Mayne has a hard-on for dismemberment and torturing her characters... Regardless this woman has never written a bad book

Me, after reading Monstrous Book 1: okay this is the best one for sure

Me after reading Monstrous Book 2: okay this is the best one---

Me after reading Monstrous Book 3: okay this is the b----

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why are there fake transparent pngs. what kind of sick prank is this. some kind of looney tunes ass bullshit. i run at the gray and white checkered background and hit it like a wall.

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Me waking up: I want to write

Me eating breakfast: I want to write

Me getting ready for work: I want to write

Me at work: I want to write

Me eating lunch: I want to write

Me driving home: I want to write

Me at home, sitting in front of my laptop:

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once i beat the depression and the burnout and the anxiety and the loneliness and the exhaustion and the guilt and the awkwardness and the apathy and the low income and the chronic illness and the impatience and the vulnerability and the creative block and the capitalism and the cruelty THEN you'll see

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[grabs your shirt] listen. listen to me. the practical is holy. the everyday is sacred. the simple act of surviving is divine. do you get it? sanctity begins at home, in the hands that build and the lives we live and the deaths we die and the worms that eat our bodies. if making something by hand is not worthy of veneration then nothing is.

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Something about Calypso singing "Life would be so much worse if you had died" when Odysseus is on that ledge, just pokes me in the chest

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No no no y’all don’t understand. It’s Telemachus saving his father without knowing it. It’s Odysseus calling out for Athena after 10 years of no contact because it’s the only thing he can think to do; to hope that somewhere, some way, she’s still got an eye on him. It’s Athena, goddess of wisdom and warfare, winning Zeus’s game, being nearly destroyed for it, and rising up not because she has the strength for it (her theme slowly beating out until) but because she needs to help Odysseus and Telemachus. It’s about Athena, after winning the game and bringing herself back to life, after proving that she is both wise enough and strong enough to do this, coming to the end of God Games and begging for Zeus’s help.

It’s Athena, goddess of wisdom and warfare, begging.

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ever since I was a young lad I knew I wanted to be a middle-aged man with an undone tie around his neck who’s having a crisis so he goes to the bathroom to splash water on his face only to look up at himself in the mirror and wonder at the stranger looking back