Coda, Poetry by Forrest Jamie

Thanks as always, WILDsound ❤

POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film.

 Genres: Breakup, Closure, Heartbreak, Love, Relationships, Romantic, The End

—-

Darling boy
I know how this story goes –
it’s ours, after all
and I could read it
with my eyes closed.
And why must re-reading those chapters
of our one-sided love story
hurt so good?

You said that
my coffee brown eyes felt like home,
but you’re the wandering kind
and so
the timing is all wrong.
You never stay (in one place)
for too long.

I’m an open book.
I give myself to you
anywhere
anytime
and every time,
you leave with another torn up page of me
but I couldn’t care less if I tried.

We will always be
my favourite
romantic tragedy.
 

 

 

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10 Days Until Surgery… Trying to Cope With Severe Anxiety

Yeah, guess how well the girl with severe anxiety and panic disorder is dealing with the fact that she’ll be having a fucking organ removed in 10 days?

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Not so much. At all.

As far as surgeries go, this is one of the more minor ones. I know that. Everyone is telling me this. But I already know and just repeating the same thing to me doesn’t help.

They ask what scares me about it – fucking everything. Hospitals in general, IV’s – two things I’ve encountered way too fucking often lately. What if I my anxiety gets too out of hand and I have a panic attack while they’re getting me ready to go under. I get dizzy and emotional, I can’t think properly therefore I can’t speak and say what’s wrong, and on a few occasions, I feel so faint that I actually pass out. Hell, maybe that’d work in my favour…

I was talking with my doctor today at an appointment, and pathetically typical me asked what if I wake up, to which she responds “That doesn’t happen anymore.” But it happened. Great.

Then there’s that whole bitch of a thing – being put to sleep. I’ve had to do it once before for my wisdom teeth – didn’t like it then, don’t like it now. It’s the most vulnerable state – a room full of strangers, an operating table. Some person controlling the drugs being pumped into you to make you sleep and others with scalpels and god knows what other medical shit to get the organ out. Also what the hell do they do with the organ? :/

Recovery. Pain. I can’t deal with the thought of having a fucking staple punched into me – knowing it’s there and then having it removed. Surgeons are often lazy – staples are quicker than stitches, doc says. But she’ll make a note about it, and she’ll be there to assist to help me feel more comfortable.

A few people have asked if I’m actually going to do it, have the surgery. They see the level of anxiety it’s causing that they’re actually asking.

I’m in pain. A lot of pain, everyday. It’s happening no matter how much I cry and bitch about it. I don’t want to have to take these pain meds every single day. I don’t want the decision to be taken away from me if it suddenly becomes an emergency.

I want it over with. I don’t want to go through it at all – but who does? I’m scared and I want it over with.

10 days.

Reflections.

2016

I wrote this on the last day of 2015 – a year that had beaten and buried me mercilessly. All I’d wanted for the new year was some change, some kindness.

“I put on a hard, jaded front but I am so fragile. Please be okay. Please be kind.”

2016-3
I got what I wanted, just differently than I’d expected. Not as much kindness, but a lot of change. A lot of challenges and hardships but I think it’s made me stronger. Better. Which is actually more than I could’ve asked for.

“All things considered…I’m at least a little bit stronger for it. Maybe even better.”

2017, let’s keep up the trend, please. (And maybe a little more kindness?)