jonadine

I cried today after the 20th time I had to put hand sanitizer on my paper cut. I just ended up going into the bathroom to sob. I did not cry when I admitted the pregnant woman with severe COVID pneumonia, and thought it was good we were treating with steroids, so the lungs would be mature if we had to cut the baby out I did not cry when we used the last heated high flow machine, and started using the duct tape and tubing I did not cry when I saw that the ICU was full of ventilated patients under 50, and statistics tell me a third of them will die I did not cry when I had to transfer the patient out of the ICU to die, I was glad I had room to move the intubated 22 year old out of the ER I did not cry when the 65 year old grandmother of 6 told me the reason she did not get the vaccine was because she was scared of side effects. She could barely talk because she was so short of breath I did not cry when I told the terrified teenager that she could skype her mother from the hospital, but no, she could not have visitors I did not cry when we used the last ventilator I did not cry when they told me the panel making rationing decisions was formed I did not cry when the childrens hospital began to fill. The last wave we had two pediatric patients, Total. This wave we admitted 6 yesterday. I cried because the paper cut hurt, every single time I went into a room and every single time I came out.

I have fallen in love with my own broken heart, I hoard my hurts, all pot shards and broken glass, Closer than my own skin. I know it's not you that makes me feel disposable, discarded, unwanted, unloved, Not pretty enough, not thin enough, not smart enough, NEVER ENOUGH.... It is rather the sharpened claws of my own self image. They puncture me, and leave holes that bleed perspective, Respawning habits of thought that that fit like Your favorite old jeans. I hate them, with a strengthening hate. They stick to me in hot taffy strings I try to pluck off with unbuttered hands, more tangled with each fumbling effort. Faceless, faithless lovers, they are all that I reject They are in my head, in my bed, filling the air with the warm musky scent of my own bad decisions. I can almost see them sometimes, those fears and insecurities, bursting from me like I am Pandora's box, swarming me like angry wasps. Then I'm a dwelling, a hive of utter bullshit, I can hear the buzzing of all that useless baggage, Seething with every never and always I've ever thought. I'm tired of swimming in wet concrete, Trying to breathe underwater, Frustrated, exhausted. I try to walk on fractured limbs Splintered bones grind through my flesh, but I will get there. Just you watch. I will be free, someday. The holes left Spackled shut, some paved over, Some filled in with loam and growing new life. Right now they torment me, but I see the future, And I will win this battle, have already won, It just remains to stamp them out. I put my insecurities in the killing jar, pluck off their wings Watch them squirm their innards out and I'll do it every day til they are gone.

I have fallen in love with my own broken heart, I hoard my hurts, all pot shards and broken glass, Closer than my own skin They cut me, and leave holes that bleed perspective, Wearing grooves of bad habits that that fit like Your favorite old jeans. I hate them, with a strengthening hate. They stick to me in hot taffy strings I try to pluck off with unbuttered hands, and they burn like napalm. Faceless, faithless lovers, they are all that I reject They are in my head, in my bed, warm musky scent of my own bad decisions. I'm tired of swimming in wet concrete, Trying to breathe underwater, Frustrated, exhausted. I try to walk on fractured limbs Splintered bones grind through my flesh, but I will get there. Just you watch. I will be free, someday. The holes left Spackled shut, some paved over, Some filled in with loam and growing new life. Right now they torment me, but I see the future, And I will win this battle, have already won, It just remains to stamp them out. I put my insecurities in the killing jar, pluck off their wings Watch them squirm their innards out and I'll do it every day til they are gone.

I have fallen in love with my own broken heart, I hoard my hurts, all pot shards and broken glass, Closer than my own skin I hate them, with a lengthening hate. They stick to me in hot taffy strings I try to pluck off with unbuttered hands, I'm tired of swimming in wet concrete, Trying to breathe underwater, Frustrated, exhausted. I try to walk on fractured limbs Splintered bones grind through my flesh, but I will get there. Just you watch. Faceless, faithless lovers, they are all that I reject They are in my head, in my bed, warm musky scent of my own bad decisions. I will be free, someday. The holes they left Spackled shut, some paved over, Some filled in with loam and growing new life. I put them all in the killing jar, pluck off their wings Watch them squirm their innards out and I'll do it every day until they are gone.

Congratulations! We are pleased to accept for publication your manuscript , M13-2535, "Photographs." I found your poem incredibly moving, shockingly good, and professionally crafted. You have a great talent, and it shows with this piece. Thank you so much for sending it our way Jomeansme: squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Freckled grin incandescent, snub-nosed, kewpie cute, it overflowed you and swept us all with it, especially me. Your joy tides left their mark on me Like seaweed limned flotsam on the beach. I hear my heart clapping the game of our childhood Miss Merry Mack-ing our way to adolescence. I knew you, pigtails to sandcastles, and your moods were subtle and irresistible as gravity. Glossed with normal-flavored "artistic temperament", graceful, natural dancer that you were, poet, snake charmer, stubborn as a steel post, Your intensity was magical, genius, and I was your acolyte. The day they came hangs over me like a pall, sometimes. Its a jumble mostly, clone-pairs of emergency workers, Wielding clipboards like shields, asking reasonable, purposeful, meaningless questions. Absurdly, I remember that in each pair, one had a mustache, and each not-twin asked me the same things about allergies, medical problems and were there any drugs in the house. There is a moment, razored from that day, a photo that lives in my head: When you were tongue twisting the shape of insanity Jaws unhinged like a snake, giving birth to a joke so huge, I splattered against it like slung mud. Memory after that is narrow and dark. They rolled you out naked as a shell-less snail And gave me small jobs to do Packing up clothes, and shoes and toothbrushes, Then, your sanity hung by a thread, scattered and distracted, Like the prisms you kept in your window. You looked right at me, and you said you had to do this alone And, primary colors flashing, you were gone

Freckled grin incandescent, snub-nosed, kewpie cute, it overflowed you and swept us all with it, especially me. Your joy tides left their mark on me Like seaweed limned flotsam on the beach. I hear my heart clapping the game of our childhood Miss Merry Mack-ing our way to adolescence, I knew you, pigtails to sandcastles, and your moods were subtle and irresistible as gravity. Glossed with normal-flavored "artistic temperament" graceful, natural dancer that you were, poet, snake charmer, stubborn as a steel post Your intensity was magical, genius, and I was your acolyte The day they came hangs over me like a pall, sometimes Its a jumble mostly, clone pairs of emergency workers, Wielding clipboards like shields, asking reasonable, purposeful, meaningless questions. Absurdly, I remember that in each pair, one had a mustache, and each not-twin asked me the same things about allergies, medical problems and were there any drugs in the house. There is a moment, razored from that day, a photo that lives in my head When you were tongue twisting the shape of insanity Jaws unhinged like a snake, giving birth to a joke so huge, I splattered against it like slung mud. Memory after that is narrow and dark, They rolled you out naked as a shell-less snail, And gave me small jobs to do Packing up clothes, and shoes and toothbrushes, And suddenly, your sanity hung by a thread scattered and distracted like the prisms you kept in your window And you told me you had to do this alone And primary colors flashing, you were gone

Freckled grin incandescent, snub-nosed, kewpie cute it overflowed you and swept us all with you, especially me Your joy tides left their mark on me Like the seaweed limned flotsam at the beach I hear my heart clapping the game of our childhood Miss Merry Mack-ing our way to adolescence Your moods were legendary Subtle and irresistible as gravity Glossed over with the normal-flavored artistic temperament graceful natural dancer that you were, poet, snake charmer, stubborn as a steel post Your intensity was magical, genius, and I was your acolyte The day they came hangs over me like a pall, sometimes Its a jumble mostly, clone pairs of emergency workers, Wielding clipboards like shields, asking reasonable, purposeful, meaningless questions. Absurdly, I remember that in each pair, one had a mustache, and each not-twin asked me the same things about allergies, medical problems and were there any drugs in the house. There is a moment though, that lives in my head like a photo, When you were tongue twisting the shape of insanity Jaws unhinged like a snake, giving birth to a joke so huge, I splattered against it like slung mud. Memory after that is narrow and dark, They rolled you out naked as a shell-less snail, And gave me small jobs to do Packing up clothes, and shoes and toothbrushes, And suddenly, your sanity hung by a thread scattered and distracted like the prisms you kept in your window And you told me you had to do this alone And primary colors flashing, you were gone.

Added a transitional stanza between the last and the one prior. I think it needed it, but Im not sure it makes it better.

Last one. Think Im about ready to start working on a book. Anybody know of any resources to help with publishing poetry? I have a boatload of artwork to go with it.

Ok edited and shortened, I think its pretty good.

Happy new year!

I know the ending is sort of jarring, but I kind of like it.

Not sure what fo do with this one. Any suggestions?

Done. At least until the next time I go on an editing rampage.