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Brooke Wolfe | + Follow Poet |
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I Can'T Go Anywhere Without My Damn Notebook

I have no intuition, I hope you don’t either.
I mark down the strength of these rings

On my weak fingers
to make me stronger.

The glowing blue gem 
Makes me powerful again

And again, I want to die. 
It’s amazing how, the way we wear our jewelry,

Often tells us something about our will to live,
Because I saw the kid with the tight necklace,

Black, like my shoelaces, 
But not from dye, from the muddy walk home,

And taught, like a noose,
And despondent, as my body,

And I knew this boy, like me
Wanted to die.  So now we are friends

And together, we will never kill ourselves 
As others do

But we will never smile or hold hands as lovers do,
Tying, together the laces of our black shoe.

The butterfly’s wings have broken and 
Strawberry drops float down from the clouds.

I can’t go anywhere without my damn notebook.
I’m incomplete without my damn notebook

And I’m incomplete anyway.  
The way those leaves just fell off the tree

Makes me want to cry
Or write a story,

Which is the same thing really, 
If tears tell a story,

And like I said before, even if you think I’m boring,
I believe in the power of tears

And one salty explosion is enough to get me running;
Not running to nowhere and not running away

And the day has become dark again
Just as the pages in my journal

With each passing spasm of my spastic hands
I don’t know what it means to be happy

I’m not even happy spasmodically
And this is just another story of manic-depression

So don’t listen to it if you don’t understand and
Don’t write stories if you want someone to hear

Because the mania is at my door again 
And I won’t kill it, not this time,
 
Let it knock, one, no two
Times more, times four.  

Eight times knock the mania but the mania is
What puts me to sleep 

So how can I deny what in the end is peaceful
And how can I deny what is productive,

The only production in my life;
For though I, through my idiot parents,

Was reproduced, will not myself reproduce 
Any more demons into this messed up well

Of sameness.  I don’t want my precious demons
To become the same, just like every --one else

Copyright © Brooke Wolfe | Year Posted 2007

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