Free

I’m lonely for no one. 

I have no one in mind when I want to feel another’s skin, 

I have no face to paste onto the phantom that pushes back my hair

to get a better look at my eyes.

He is nothing, he is an ideal. He is simply someone who is not there.

I can feel the empty impression in my bed, the curves of my body where his should compliment, but I cannot feel who he is.

Can it be loneliness when there is no one to long for? 

Perhaps I should count it as forward progression, a step towards feeling confident in myself. I’m not quite sure. All I know is I have this profound sense of hollow ringing in my stomach and no cure. If I knew how to satisfy an invisible itch I would, but I don’t know where to scratch. 

I’m restless and I feel like I’m not moving. 

The only place to step is forward and the only way to look ahead. There is no past for me to look to, and the stepping stones only lead back to places I’ve been - places I already know. 

I’m lonely for no one and moving towards the unknown.  


Stage Six Cancer

Currently, I live in my own personal hell. I am 22 years old. I am a waitress. I live in my parents house. 

Those sentences may read that way, but how they resonate is like this: 

I have stage six cancer. I will not recover. They are removing my bones one by one. 

I never thought I’d live in my hometown again. Silly me. I should have never forgotten about life’s tendency to change in the nick of a second. It doesn’t make it easier, though. I feel caged. 

It’s not only the boredom. There’s a shame factor attached to it. Returning back to the nest after you’ve already flown away is like being wrangled up and thrown into a zoo. I can fly for a little bit, but eventually I’ll hit bars. 

I’m just trying to remember that this is all an ends to a mean. There is an opening on the other end of the tunnel, I just can’t see it yet. But it’s being carved by countless emails to countless HR departments; resumes and cover letters that sit unopened in inboxes.  

Persistence. Resilience. They will soon deliver me to my:

I told my friend I felt like a failure. She said: “You’re not content. If you were content where you are and didn’t care to get out and find more, then you’d be a failure.” 

So here’s to discontent.  

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