I Am Half-Steeped Tea

a poem

These Days

I am half-steeped tea
whispering to drifting dreams
set on the counter beside me,
like a honey jar
starting to crystalize.

I am a partially rusted shower bar
holding up mild efforts at enjoying life
beyond survival. 
The curtain stays up, doesn't it?
The floor isn't always wet, is it?
Most of the time I can justify keeping me.

I am a cluttered desktop
screenshots chatting to screenshots
wondering if they'll ever be of use
ever find a folder to belong in.
I'd like to be okay with this clutter.
I'd like to be okay with a lack of destination.

I'd like to be okay with me.

It seems like people are really figuring out life and how they fit into it all post-2020. I can’t seem to find myself again post-2021. Ever since the crusades against the non-vaccinated took hold of the masses, the best I can accomplish is a long duration of “fake it till you make it” here and there.

Without a core trust in humanity underneath it all, my days always have an aftertaste of ash. Talk about triggered abandonment issues…

This PTSD takes the cake.

I just hope I can one day find the spark of love I once had for everything that is once more. Without it, I don’t know quite how I’ll find the fire that I know I need to motivate me enough to do this. This whole… live well, thing.

Until next time,

Julia