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Donuts

I’m not whole anymore

I’m not in a hole anymore

The blackness has receded

But my effort is depleted

What is this gray

Like that of a dreary day

My words are heavy

and you just won’t let me

Stand up off the floor

I want nothing more

If I could say the perfect thing

without tears that sting

I’d say it all

To keep from the fall

And it’s hard to recover

From all these blunders.

My heart expands like a balloon

and then POP it’s gone too soon.

Will this cycle settle

or am I stuck with this boiling kettle.

Because I’m not whole anymore

but they grayness keeps me on the floor.

 

 

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Gardenia

You are as sensitive as a venus fly trap

You are as delicate as a gardenia

You close and discolor

At the slightest touch or bother

Silence consumes the laughter

The laughter never really seems to matter

When will I do anything right

When will we have a normal night

I can’t say anything

I can’t do anything

I can’t be anything

I can’t feel anything

I can understand your side

Yet you throw mine to the tide

My feelings grow like a vine

Then the night comes just in time

Feelings of horror

Feelings of guilt

I will continue to hide under this quilt

Because apologizing doesn’t do right

and this is now my normal night.

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All Posts, poetry

hey dad

dear dad:

 

i used to sit in my room crying.

i couldn’t breathe.

by that i mean, the promises of my future were lying.

i mean, i just couldn’t breathe.

i sucked at explaining myself but

i expected you to know everything

just like you always say you do.

but i was suffocating.

i was accepting of the end.

i needed you to be my friend.

 

you have always been my everything,

the rock i always needed,

you have provided,

you have cared,

you have protected,

you have filled roles you never thought would need to be filled.

 

so, as i was suffocating, i thought to myself:

i could lose this fight

but

for you,

i will not lose this fight.

 

the years went by and i could just barely breathe.

but i could breathe.

there were many times i wanted to close the gap

yet you remained my reason i would not.

 

the air got thinner, though.

like, the top of mount everest thin.

the mountain is sure getting harder to climb.

good thing you are with me.

 

but then,

when,

i needed you to be my friend,

i felt like we were reaching the end,

you criticized the way i climbed the mountain,

the way my hair was blowing in the wind,

the way i tied my boots,

the way i was breathing so extremely hard,

because the air was thin,

like mount everest thin,

and

i was suffocating,

like… “i’m about to be a body left on mount everest” suffocating.

 

so, this time,

instead of you being the reason i kept going,

you turned into the reason i hoped i tripped and fell off the mountain.

because climbing that fucking mountain is hard enough.

and i needed you to encourage me.

so i didn’t suffocate.

but i’m about to fucking suffocate.

and you’re focused on my shoes

my climb,

my breathing,

and even my hair.

 

and even though we’re both climbing this mountain,

and even though i’m still suffocating,

i just wanted you to know,

you used to be the reason i wouldn’t but now you’re the reason i would.

 

the suffocation won’t calm

my lungs are like a bomb

i’ve always waited for the timer

except now, you will be the only climber.

enjoy the view without me

because, “to be or not to be” is the only question i am able to see.

 

in conclusion,

this is how you went from being the reason i would not

to being

the reason of that suffocating thought.

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All Posts, poetry, Uncategorized

The seventh day of Spring.

I called into work for a minor sickness which caused guilt to be had.

My depression brought nostalgia of the worst kind. The past love kind.

My uterine lining decided it was time to be shed.

My tear ducts took it upon themselves to sync with my mind.

I have so much to do.

I cannot think.

I cannot think.

I cannot think.

I am thinking too much.

I am thinking too much.

I am thinking-

what if I quit

what if I-

It became too much, like everything else does.

How brushing my teeth is the same as me climbing the Eiffel Tower.

Maybe if I were climbing the Eiffel Tower-

Reality.

Reality.

Reality.

I laid in my favorite spot until I became paralyzed.

I was paralyzed but my mind was trying out for the cheer squad.

And by that I mean, I wish I were as happy as the cheer squad.

And by that I mean, I have always hated the cheer squad.

I did not want to be there but where else would I go?

I wanted to go somewhere fun but my mind was saying no.

What if my mind pressed the escape button-

Oh, dissociation, the second cousin to depression.

I didn’t know I invited his cousin…

Dissociation is doing well today, we talked about the weather and whether…

or not I should delete all my social media, die, quit, cry, scream, eat, explode, or all of the above while my actual mind does its part.

But separately. Obviously.

Depression told dissociation that even though they are cousins that he was fine at this party alone.

But family does not listen and neither do…

my thoughts because they like to be as independent as I portray myself to be.

My party, my meltdown, my crisis, was winding down.

Or was it.

Or was it.

Or was it.

The spring air is wild with pollen and my nose is fine but my mind is not.

I’ve never heard of a pollen-induced mental breakdown.

But there is a first for everything.

And for the first time, let’s not blame this all on the weather but rather the whethers.

 

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All Posts, art and photography, personal writings

Self Portraits this morning.

 

I love the human body, not particularly mine… but that’s a topic for another post. I have had trouble finding a model to work with so I took it upon myself to try and carry out a vision I’ve had for awhile. I’m sure my parents would freak out at these, but I’m an artsy person, not particularly affected by nudity, and as I said, love the human body.

I have dipped my toes into probably 70% of possible genres in the world and always make my way back to humans. Maybe it’s because I’m a closeted hopeless romantic or just have that urge within me for some reason.

Notice they aren’t full nudes, I’m not there with myself yet and probably will never be. Plus, I do have SOME internet boundaries. I just want to be creative and where I live just lacks the resources artists like myself need. I’m so bored, I’m so bored with life, I’m so depressed and everything is so bland. These pictures, for the thirty minutes it took to take them, let the colors come back into my vision. Then, as I was editing, I realized I didn’t completely hate myself or my body and that in itself is quite an achievement for me. I saw fat rolls and stretch marks and bruises and bumps and cellulite, and you know what? The body positivity that has been going around has been affective in allowing me to love my body. It’s honestly pretty weird. But… a good weird.

So, thanks for reading and subscribe for more totally emotional posts, probably in the form of poetry. Leave comments on how I can improve. (Step 1 is getting a battery for my remote so I don’t have to keep getting up every ten seconds lol)

 

P.s. I’m completely aware that the pictures could be better, I didn’t try extremely hard and I didn’t have the equipment I needed immediately available in that moment. However, I personally like the style and, in general, how they came out.

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All Posts, poetry, Uncategorized

Valentine’s Day

For the first time in my life,

I am not single today.

For the millionth time in my life,

it sure feels like I am.

 

Is it truly so hard to find a matching schema?

Does nobody care to reciprocate?

 

I tell myself: “no one will ever treat you special”.

I ask “why?”

I tell myself: “because you aren’t special enough”.

 

The ones who reciprocate are crazy

and the ones who don’t

are the loveliest.

 

Is it so hard to find a matching schema?

Does nobody care to reciprocate?

 

I think about them almost every minute of the day.

Do they even think about me in that way?

I want to be wanted.

I want to feel wanted.

I want to not have tear marks on my face

on this day.

 

I think to myself: “there has to be someone out there”.

Then, I think to myself: “except, you’re not special enough”.

 

I think to myself: “you deserve more”.

Then, I think: “you’re being selfish”.

Because having one thing,

yearning for more,

then scolding

yourself

for

wanting

more

is an inescapable cycle.

 

So, on this fourteenth of February,

I will be grateful for

finally

not being alone

and then

accepting

the fact

that

I feel

exceptionally

alone.

 

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All Posts, poetry, Uncategorized

New Hire Orientation.

I have been anticipating you since before the day my heart was tossed away by someone who didn’t respect it.

I knew challenges would slap my countenance after the floodgate was finally opened.

But the bide of your arrival was misleading to my anxiety.

Quite like the serene retraction of the tide before a tsunami ravages anything in its route.

I was expecting a wave.

Instead, a torrent engulfed my sanity.

You know my limits yet flick them off your desk like the eraser shavings from that time you had to correct the misspelling of my last name.

I guess you do not know me as well as you tend to tout.

I suppose you do not care as much as you seem to let out.

I have other responsibilities, you know, like trying to keep my shit together.

You excessively orate how I should speak up when I feel distressed.

However, your spiel leaves the impression my spot will be occupied by another unsuspecting student if I show any weakness.

I sincerely yearn for this opportunity but not in exchange for my welfare.

I work diligently to avoid conflicts of interest within myself but here you are, causing my muscles to tense as if a lion entered my residence.

I am bargaining if this is all worth it in the end.

There is no sure way to know.

I just beg you, if you’re going to do it anyways, now’s the time to let me go.

 

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