My Essence

I dare you to do it.

Swallow. Swallow.
Jump. Jump.

All day. Every day. Loud. Soft. When I’m awake. When I’m asleep. When I’m on the nod watching Harry Hill.

I pretend it makes me laugh. It is funny. But it can’t drown out the voice.

Only replaces it with the memory of laughter. Not real laughter. The laughter you think people make.

It is so very hollow grabbing at hysteria.
Taking it down with the powder and the wine.

I dare you. I dare you.

I send the card with hearts on. I sweat in the shop. My god. I am sending a card to the voice.

I write it in red pen.
It is not about love.
It is the same note I have written for fifteen years.
It arrives without a stamp.

You were completely unrousable he said.
There are more certain ways she said.

I know. I know. Shut up. I have done the lesson. Many lessons. I am waiting for the practical application.

But I don’t know which voice to believe.

It is hard. Trying to make sense of these words.
Carrying a bag of bandages in the wind.
Kind of symbolic.
A bag with no weight.
Full of things which should hold me together.

(We are far beyond fixing).

I dangle them over the side. Along with the pages and pages that aren’t quite me.

This shouldn’t still be happening he said.

How I wish that were so.
How I wish I could let it all go.

Take a deep breath. Laugh a true laugh. Open a real card.

How I wish I could fill a bag with my essence.