Solidarity,
to be alone completely
totally in fulfillment
exactly as much as i want it to be
because nothing happens that I don’t want to happen
complete control is lost completely
NOTHING saves us
there is no hope
only demons hiding over your bed on your chalk board
they’re always watching aren’t they
it’s annoying really
can’t breathe
can’t think
just losing my mind and
running out of
space
©O’Connor, 
2016
It is truly sad to think, that so many times the people who offer the most supportive and positive words, are the ones that battle with the darkest and deepest fears and inner demons. However, it is only because of their own struggle that they know what words to say. It is because of their own internal war that they know how to react to hearing the battle stories of others. It is both a curse and a blessing if you choose to see it that way. The choice is yours, but I choose positivity. I choose to use my own darkness to help others get through theirs. So that someday, hopefully, we can say we know what true happiness feels like. Together.
Tell me a story, a story that can make me cry. Tell me a story that can make me laugh. A story that can make me weak or strong. Tell me a story that can change my life, that can remind me of who I want to be. Tell me a story that can change the world, that can change my world. A story of life.
Please, tell me a story.
©C. O’Connor, 2016
No feelings. No thoughts. No words. No nothing but space and time and history, I guess. There is a lot of history here. So much so that it breaks me. Just the thought of it. Of it all. That simple thought can stop me in my tracks, and start me running back. Back to everything I was. Everything I originally ran from. History. Oh History. It can kill. It can ruin someone. It can ruin me. So we stand. No feelings. No thoughts. No words. Just nothing. Space and history. So much of each. They can make us or ruin us. Which will it be? Yes or no? Made or ruined? Home or running?
©C. O’Connor, 2016
Can’t breathe
Haven’t been
Day to day
Coughing lungs
One gives up clogs up
In my face
Months
Months!
Dealt with it
Not dying
Not of this
sick mentally
sick emotionally
sick physically
Falling mind
Falling apart
Stress from outside
Body breaking
To nothing
I’ll be gone
Grains of sand.
©C.O’Connor, 2016
I’m not the hero. I don’t think I am the villain. Hell, I’m pretty positive that were my life made into a movie I wouldn’t even be the main character. I’d be that random person standing in the background. Everyone around me would have reactions on their faces to whatever is going on. I wouldn’t. My face would be blank. My face is always, and has always, been blank. I’ve heard about it since I was a kid.
One of my earlier memories goes to a time when I was in second or third grade. It was the end of the school day with the excitement of freedom coursing through the student body. I was leaning against the wall in the middle of my class’ line. I think it was the summer, close to the end of the school year. (I have no idea why, and I’m probably lying. It just feels right.)
I can see a blob of colors from kid’s clothes across the hall. I can hear the high pitched thrum of children’s voices overlapping. I don’t remember what I was doing in line, or whether or not I was talking to someone. I do remember the teacher I had in the first grade walking up to me. I do remember her telling me to smile. I do not remember my answer, but I kept thinking, why is she asking me? I wasn’t the only one not smiling. I wasn’t the only kid not looking happy.
So why did she ask me? Why single me out? I didn’t understand then. It took me years to hear the saving phrase that would explain the countless comments I’ve received throughout my life. It explained all of the looks, all of the are you okays?, the you look like you’re about to kill sombodys, and the are you depresseds?
The phrase is Resting Bitch Face. I don’t know when I first heard it, but it has become a part of my life, my daily life. No I’m not depressed, at least not at this moment in my life. No I’m not going to kill someone. I don’t want to go to jail. And don’t even get me started on whether or not I’m okay.
©C. O’Connor, 2016
My watch stopped. The world stopped. In that space on my wrist time no longer exists. It does not move forward or back. It is still. Life is still. At 10:37 on the 23rd. If it is morning or night I do not know. If it is Summer or Winter I do not know.
It does not matter. Times does not have to matter. We make it matter. We create the rush or lag. Maybe we should take out all of the batteries.
©C. O’Connor
The notes were from a good night. An entire pile of memories from an amazing summer. A summer that ended so abruptly. The notes and pieces of flower decorations became the memories of the disaster. They now carried with them thoughts of thrashing, screaming, and glass shattering. They now represent what had been lost. What I once had. They remind me of the betrayal. They remind me of the people who said they would be there forever. But their idea of forever stopped when the first thin went wrong. The notes remind me of friends who weren’t friends and warm summer nights.
I try to focus on the good now.
©C. O’Connor
starting on a new line
in a blank space
no transition
no middle
old new
nothing in between
that is how it works
what goes down in between
forgotten
only the highlights survive
I am now who I am
how did I get here?
Forgotten.
©C.O’Connor 2016
Help me down
I’ve been up here for so long
I can’t see my feet way down under me
Where did the world go?
Where did the ground go?
Help my down.
I don’t want to be up here anymore.
I want out
I want my feet back
I want the street back
I wanted to be up here
I wanted to see the view
Didn’t know it meant losing myself
losing you
I didn’t know
Help me down from this heavenly looking hell
Help me down.
©O’Connor, 2016
The Rant 