Zoning out at Work Vibes

Indescribable

There is so much to write about,

but none of the words are right.

When I get like this,

I try to describe exactly how I am feeling.

Trying to be accurate means I may go on for pages and pages just to describe my particular brand of loneliness.

Sometimes there is no poem.

Just the feeling,

and a hope that someone can relate even if you do not spend an hour explaining yourself.

I, suddenly and with all that I am, miss my toys.

I miss the blue tote that held my toys,

and the way it made them smell.

Like plastic and brown recluses.

I desperately miss the first toy I can remember being attached to.

And that is the poem.

Not the words, but the missing of the thing.

I will never know where it went.

The last time I held it, I did not know that was the last time.

And the little girl who held it,

younger than 4,

still an only child,

Nothing bad had happened to her yet.

I just want to hold her toy, as the adult who finally escaped all of that.

I want to hold her tiny, mal-nourished body, 

and apologize for the ways that I killed her.

Someone needs to hold her as she cries,

instead of being angry at her tears.

There is so much I still have to say to her.

"We'll make it through, Lexi. 

Not without scars, but we make it through."

"Never try to defend yourself, baby. It only makes everything hurt more.

And you do not have to be strong. You already are.

Even when you don't feel it. Strong does not mean unfeeling."

And then, "You will meet someone soon. Her name will be Callie. Pay very close attention to how she grows up. If you make sure she always feels loved, you might be able to save her.

But if, in the end, you can't save her, do not blame yourself.

She will need to be saved, but it is not your responsibility. You will do the best you can.

You always do."