since

my dad died i seriously have no idea what to write. and it’s funny because for a writer you would think this is where i would be writing poem after poem. i wrote several poems before and now it’s as if i have nothing in one piece. all of my writings have been fragments, sentences, sometimes just one word. it’s as if sitting in the after i am just this floating body who has to give herself lists of things to do in order to proceed in the slightest. routine has been the most essential in this process. i do a and b and then c and i repeat that the next day and it just seems like i’m getting by day by day and i’m told it can be like that. all of these rare, weird, indescribable feelings are a part of this grief. grief. what a word. anyways the progress helps. i see progress and that really helps but i always finish it with this part of me that just wants her dad back and i am learning that is also okay. it’s just who i am right now. i’ll unfold into whoever it is i am meant to unfold into when the time is right. i am surrounded by this large amount of sadness, more than i have ever experienced before and that’s hard. this large amount of sadness i carry with me has been one of the more odd sensations in all of this. it becomes contradicting to beautiful days, beautiful moments because he is not physically here and i get awkward and frustrated in this way of wanting to pull him back, to reach for him somehow but i can’t. i have never carried this much sadness in this way and it’s just fucking odd. and i know he’s here and i know he wants me to enjoy this life he gave me but it’s just still so hard without him. and i have to remind myself that it’s good to feel this grief, it’s beautiful to feel this grief because he was loved so much. the amount of sadness i am carrying is all the love i have for him and one day it will level out, i think. one day it will become appreciation. but right now it just feels like clothing that doesn’t feel like mine. like i’m in someones else’s skin but i know it’s mine because all of the freckles and all of the scars are there and they’re mine and sometimes that’s grounding and sometimes it’s hard because i have no idea who the fuck i am. no matter how many times i tell myself i am jessica sometimes i just don’t feel like her.  but i think it’s just that i’m unfamiliar with this version of jessica and i need to start formally meeting her, i think.

l, js