JBWC SHOWCASE Chapbook 2020

STRING OF THOUGHTS
I’ve always hated the feeling of being full. “Are you happy with yourself,” my reflection asks
me. “Happy enough to look at you,” I respond.
I recently came to the epiphany that I’d rather be hated than pitied so when I’m sad I get
angry. At myself.
We’re allowed to feel vulnerable. Yet we feel like fools when getting hurt because we blame
ourselves for not expecting the outcome. I wonder if they felt the same way when I couldn’t
whisper the “love you’s” back.
Mankind is made up of cyclical experiences. Butterflies must close their wings to fly. We open
our mouths to eat. I open my palm and close my hand when I feel theirs.
Life teaches us that joy is not infinite, that we have to feel sadness sometimes in order to
appreciate moments of happiness. But this makes self-loathing so easy.
I use too many “I”s, each uppercase “I” haunts me because it must mean I’m full of myself.
That I don’t make sacrifices for other people.
My mother told me about a taxi driver in NYC who, because there was no parking, slept in his
car every night. My mother disapprovingly commented, “that’s not good for your health.” But
aren’t we dying every day?
I found my old watch and I can’t stop thinking about how bulky it’s become, carrying around
the person I used to be. And reminding me that I really haven’t changed.