Andie Bottrell
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a l o n e

12/31/2015

1 Comment

 
Picture

i think that
the greatest disappointment
of my adult life 
has been in learning
how truly alone
each one of us really 
is
you can mush flesh together
you can say beautiful words
full of promise and meaning
you can love wholly 
and be loved
but even that is not enough
it is an illusion
of comfort
a fantasy we all desperately
want to buy into
that your soul’s space
can expand its territory
by purchasing land
in another body
that you can be more than
just yourself
alone
but that’s false
there is only you
and
when nights get hard
and cold and lonely
when days are wet and
clouded with a populous
that feels so strange
when you want someone to turn to
but find that no one
any longer
qualifies
for the position
you know
that in the end
there is only you
and mother can not save you
from romantic hurt
and lover can not heal you
from father hurt
and brother can not
see you for who you are
and friends are not able
to fully understand
and those who get closest
also perish
in their attempts
so in death
there is just you
and often before
sometimes for many or even
most of your years
there may just be only
you
and you’ll have to brave the
cold, often cruel world
with little to no reward
and you’ll have to overcome the
dark, crowded world
inside your own head
and you’ll have to find a way
—i suggest a hands-on hobby--
to focus all of your attention on to
to distract yourself from 
the devastating reality
of the
silence
absence
and
loss
of life
1 Comment

i n t o  t h e  w o o d s

12/28/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
into the woods
i've been thrust
or did i wander off?
it feels so terribly 
lonely and dark here
i can hardly believe
i would have ever 
wanted this
i remember a time
before i met you
when the woods
became comfortable
to me
the darkness was
soothing and my
eyes adjusted to it
calibrated thrmselves
the temperature didn't
feel too cool
the loneliness
was manageable
i stayed busy enough and
when i grew
restless i
adventured out
until i bumped
into someone
new
0 Comments

b r u s h  s t r o k e s

12/21/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
I'm not particularly gifted
When I paint it is not for anyone
not even for myself
It is to busy my hands and eyes
from the things going on outside
and inside my mind
I don't bother mastering techniques
I don't trouble myself with perfection
It is purely for expression
that I create
The need to communicate
things that I cannot find the words
or courage or person or moment
to say
Yesterday I painted non-stop
from waking to sleeping
I painted my salvation
in tones of blue and black 
and fuchsia, yellow and green
I painted lovers and people 
all by themselves
I painted lines and dashes and
strokes
I painted until I exhausted my arms
and my eyes began to droop
And then I let myself off of the hook
I laid my head on the pillow
and when I closed my eyes
it wasn't you any longer
that I saw
but brush strokes
filling the space
between the darkness
of my lids
0 Comments

h e a r t  b r e a k

12/14/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
i don’t feel well
the physical symptoms
are surprisingly
real
my brain is 
of course
on fire with thought
my heart hurts
literally
isn’t that weird?
when our metaphorical heart
is breaking
our organ heart
feels it
i guess it’s like you said
that’s where they got the idea
it doesn’t stop there though
not only does my heart hurt
and race 
(why is it beating so fast?
I can hardly catch my breath)
but my hands and arms
feel sort of 
weak and numb
and my legs feel like 
they might give out
i don’t want to do anything
but i don’t want to not do anything
because then i’ll just feel everything
too much
so i do things
i work out
i work
i try to make myself presentable
i drive some place
i cry 
and then i stop
and then in a little while
i cry some more
and later, again, i stop
i drink coffee
(this doesn’t help my racing heart)
i don’t eat much
i feel too full in every part of my body
to add anything to it
it’s just bursting with contents it seems
everwhere
except 
somewhere
that isn’t anywhere, really
there i am empty
and utterly so
at a loss
there is just 
empty panicked open space
insatiably hungry and
screaming
and sometimes it screams so loudly
that the sound travels all the way
from the invisible ether
to my body
up my throat 
and out my mouth
culminating in a
 panged verb-less moan
i don’t feel well
…
my heart is 
breaking
0 Comments

    About

    Hey! I'm Andie Bottrell, a multidisciplinary creative living in Springfield, MO. I share stories (autobiographical and fictional), poems, and other creative or personal musings here. 

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