The alternative frame of mine 

       I wonder as I toss and turn on this couch if there is another me tossing and turning in a bed next to her significant other. The same time I look back at the stuffing on the couch is the same time she turns to look at him. This rest does not breath return to me as he does. 

        I lay and wonder what it would be like to curl in close to his body and she wonders what it would be like to not lay so close. These two souls of mine living on the line. Dreaming of the pastures they refuse to water yet deam so divine. 

       I accept that she is me. The girl who moves close and the girl who pulls away. It does not matter what you do I will not stay. 

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Coping with Hoping 

we set our alarm clocks everyday not knowing if we will wake up. 

I don’t know where I read that but it gave me a new sense in the word hope. When I pray at night I thank Him and ask for the holy father to take care of my loved ones and when I hope to wake up the next day, I hope the ones I know and love have been hidden safely away from that black veil. 

               I listen to myself  

Maybe that just works for me. I listen to others and take advice the best I can but I listen to myself. I read the signs when my love falls away, when I feel him never treat me the same. When my boss doesn’t say hi with the same tone in his voice. When I can’t stand how these walls look the same as the past 2 years but no faces I recodnize. No one to call a friend and no where to call a home. These are the underlying tones and truths of the days I call my world. I read every language of body that walks my way. I ease between the words most people don’t realize they say. This is how I cope. I read these signs. 

           She keeps me sane 

I tell myself. My inner voice. My truth.  If you could only understand the levels of insanity I met to find my sanity. She is me knowing how I will react without these warnings. Coping with hoping seems to be my struggle lately. I have uncontrolled bi-polar thoughts that feel as if an old soul and young soul are tangled together in the battle for what is supposed to be my life. 

                    My choice

Sometimes I don’t feel like it is. Some days I wake up just because I know they want me to get out of bed. I walk in those doors everyday 4 hours away because I know they don’t worry. Not in the ways that they used to. “What will my gypsy do ?”my mother wonders. I am normal and I can’t stand it. I know I’m here for a reason so trying to push fast forward on this is breaking the beneficial part of this experience. So I’m coping, on my friends couch. Next to allergies walking in the night, the baby crying to remind me this isn’t my life.

I can’t resist the feeling of hope. 

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