Twitter Prompt from Dr Frizzle

 I know nothing of plum trees,

And little of plums-

Except the suspicion

they age into the prunes my husband loves-

But from life spent under apple trees

As the breeze cools the harvest

A smile winds 'round my soul

Imagining the joy of plucking purple

Just once.

 You don't even want it anymore.

The thing you used to love

More than anything else,

And you don't want it anymore.

Because it rips and tears at your heart,

Reopening wounds that only ever scab,

Only ever scab,

Never heal,

And you're so, so tired

Of holding still

Trying not to move what aches

But you flinch and you're bleeding again,

Crying again,

And your body hurts

And you know,

You know it would help if you took it back-

Oh it would hurt more at first

But in the long-run it would help-

But you could lose it again.

And you'd have to face

What the lack has done to your skill.

Better stay still.

Better stay silent.

Might as well stop crying.

No one is coming

Least of all to bring it back.

Slumped
on the floor
under a blanket of self-loathing,

every attempt at change
a bloodied bruise,

fingers gripped tight
on the air
that is the hope
that maybe one day
five years from now
I'll wake up and somehow
things will be better.

What did I find
That slipped joy into place
so completely
That I don't need to write?

I am still tired,
still worn,
but it does not crush,
not like it used to.

What has filled me,
that there is no more room
for words of pain to leak out
in ink?

The itch grows
and twists
and prickles
more and more
the closer and closer
I get to relief

I can't decide if it is strength,
my choosing to stay,
or weakness.

Running home,
exhausted, the tail end of sick,
it seems like the easy option.

But staying,
staying is maintaining the status quo,
even though that "quo"
feels like having my shoulder
against a moutain pushing back.

I want to die-
I have never been this sick
and never been so sick
as to be unable to function
twice in one year.
I already did my time,
dammit.
I am miserable
and have no recourse.

All I can think of
is going home.
Quitting,
throwing in the towel,
a disappointment.

I hang on anyway,
for now.