wrobel

[wrobel]

55 days

I’m feeling tired to the tunes of

I love yous

Feeling for the most of it,

Still so unkempt, like light all but lost me,

And yet

[wrobel]

Let me introduce you to

skipping right past all of it.

It’s a lot,

I know

I know because I wrote it.

Tell me you want to see it

and then close your eyes to it

close your eyes when you read it,

let me read it to you

let me see you plug your ears

let me see it hurt you, too.

[wrobel]

It really fucking hurts sometimes

I wish I could lie about it

I wish when I found each picture

I could more than deny it

I could sit with it and

and

and

It just really fucking hurts me

to do all those things

to know all those things now

to recognize what I couldn’t in the past

…it even hurts to be past it

And I am

I am

I am

I am

Now then, you’re back and

I’m certain I’ve improved but,

still questioning it because… you

You

You

You

You and then don’t match

I’ve seen it.

And now? What then is it?

[wrobel]

Tell me how to be me again, or am I just another person?

[wrobel]

I’m weak when I need it, can’t beat it

feelings fumbled and functionless

flightless bird put to the test

ruffled up feathers ready to rest

[wrobel]

Kept to keeping to the heart of it,

things not so easy as they seem,

an impossible dream to stop running,

to end all lying about all of it.

A hopeful departure, an endless venture

a beauty beyond measure when you find it.

[wrobel]

I’ve figured out everything,

I’m soulless, I’m lost,

I’m feeling, and feeling feels like

There’s nothing to contribute;

It feels like there is nothing I do

To be true, to be honest;

In essence there seems to be only

Nothingness

[wrobel]

I’m in a dark place

[wrobel]

[wrobel]

Sometimes I still miss you

[wrobel]

Oregon Coast Katie Musial

[wrobel]

“I found this and it’s beautiful; it’s everything I want, so I step off the deep end into oblivion, riding the wave of love down, waving goodbye for some reason.”

Thinking about the era of the jack rabbit

[wrobel]

Sometimes I like to listen in to the voices in my head; little conversations more interesting than the thread of words weaving from the mouths of others, and I'm bound to them, these and those and whats and ifs; I'm stuck in a similar cycle of dependence. So sometimes I let the voices in, let their little bits of my personality and interests, my mistakes made known and the unknown questions persist, persist.

[wrobel]

As cryptic as it is, "my native tongue licks the pavement," she groans. A guiltless conscience represented by tombstones... Then lights, like a conundrum, fill the skylines I fly by, lungs filled with smoke. Cigarettes come and go. She's in the weeds, but I'm ready to grow.

Whatever this is, I don't know.

[wrobel]

[wrobel]

I sit

Brimming with a little more bright light

like summertime lost its sense of itself;

like time left waiting for the next passerby

A little bubbling up of something

akin to your skin on my skin

and the light hits just right

inviting us in

A little something to bring home to

the nagging longing left to hold

and your hand squeezes tight,

sweaty under summer night

[wrobel]

Back like a bad habit