All Posts, poetry, Uncategorized

It’s You.

Your presence: like a soft fragrance of the sweetest flower permeating the air so that it may reach me, perhaps unnoticeable in one moment yet endorphin producing the next.

Your face: so close to mine, so blurry, so perfect in every way; farther now, still perfect, maybe more so than before; it feels like home.

Your eyes: so withholding, so intense, so calm and perfect, they can see me and into mine; wink.

My eyes: trying to absorb your every inch before you go yet constantly screaming at you, just screaming, yelling, can’t you tell? Can you not see that my eyes are screaming at you? “I love you! I love you! I love you!”, they yell; they try to compensate for the timidness of my mouth.

Your lips: like clouds, soft and inviting, soft, soft, soft; they form the words so dear to my heart, the words that are so dear to my mind, the words I wish I could frame and hang on my walls; they smile in unison with mine; closer now; touching mine; soft, soft, soft, goodness, so soft.

Our scars: a reminder to me that we are only human, that you are not perfect, as much as I would like to think; that I am not perfect as much as you would like to think; that we need each other, maybe; or maybe that I want to be the reason they remain bad memories written in your skin rather than invitations to join a party we have both been to a million times.

Your arms: strong, comforting, my security, my home, my salvation; hold me for eternity; do not let go.

Your mind: a secret, hard to read, yet effulgent with compassion, sentiment, and thoughtfulness; you handle me with such fragility; your mind is perfectly suited to dance with mine.

My mouth: smiling at you, lips together because if they were open I might just utter those words; I want you to admit it first because, am I crazy? I love you. I love you. I love you. My mouth wants to yell it at you. I could shout it. I won’t.

Your everything: you stick with me wherever I go and have stuck with me wherever I have gone; I can’t shake the thought of you, ever. It’s you babe. It’s you.

 

 

Note: we broke up. Part 2 in the future maybe.

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All Posts, poetry, Uncategorized

Hunger.

Every time my stomach is empty it tells me.
But when it tells me
and I acknowledge the feeling
I bargain with it

You can’t be hungry

Look at all the extra food
stored elsewhere

Look at the number
the square tells you
you are

This means you can’t be hungry
You aren’t allowed to be hungry

What if
What if, just for a few days
You remain empty

Some of that extra food can be used
Maybe that square will finally
Read a number you can be
Excited about.

What if
What if, you deserve this.
You deserve to be empty
You deserve to growl

That cupcake
That ice cream
That bread
That pasta
That food you actually like

Was it worth it?
That food you like?
You didn’t nourish
You indulged

But my brain told me to
And my stomach was angry

You deserve to be empty

Right?

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All Posts, poetry, Uncategorized

Panic in class.

I’m okay. Yeah, I’m fine. This is just boring.

I’ll look at my phone for a second.
Even though I’ve been trying really hard to concentrate.

Wow. That’s boring too.

After this class I have to go do errands.

Those errands are related to my new job.

My new job has a lot of steps to start.
My new job is going to be very new.
Very new things scare me.
Scary things scare me.
Jobs aren’t a scary thing so why is it scary?
There’s no reason to be scared.
Why are you shaking?
What if I can’t do it?
It’s not that I can’t do it, what if I fail?
What if I miss something?
What if I don’t like it?

I’m shaking.
Stop shaking.
It’s not even cold.
I’m wearing a jacket.
It’s not cold.
STOP SHIVERING!

The crazy part is
I feel like I’ve been hit by a train
I feel like someone drugged me
I feel like I want to pass out

Yet

The girl who sits next to me has no idea
She has simply no idea.
I just look bored and zoned out
Shaking out of boredom
Little does she know I’m thinking about how to end this
How to end my life
How to end this panic
This panic in class.

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All Posts, poetry, Uncategorized

Episodes NOT on Netflix.

My high functioning anxiety feels like…
And it also feels like…
And it kisses my forehead but its saliva seeps into my brain , and it feels like…
And my sentences are never complete because the snake wrapped around my throat feels like…
And sometimes when I think my heart is dancing it turns out it’s actually trying to escape and that, ladies and gentlemen, feels like…
And the tears in my eyes try to get me seeing with rose–colored glasses but sometimes it just feels like…
And the tears roll but there is no reason, it just feels like…
And the reason I can’t express how I feel is because I simultaneously have no feelings at all.
But when the episode ends, I’m me again, except what is me?
For, I’m not certain who I would be if there were no snake, no rose-colored glasses, or kisses on my forehead.
So next I ask, who are you?

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poetry, Uncategorized

I am a try-hard.

I have been described as a “try-hard”.

My parents find that extremely shocking.

I don’t find it hard to believe until a lecture from my aforementioned parents occurs.

You know, the ones where disappointment is neatly sown into every sentence?

And here I thought I was doing my best.

Thank you for letting me know I am not.

 

“You need to communicate better”

But I grew up fearing the consequences of my words.

 

“You need to learn to be more independent”

You have taught me to live in reliance of you.

 

“Stop fucking around”

I’m just trying to cope with things.

 

“What do you even have to be worried about?”

I would make you a list but, as stated earlier, I am a bad communicator.

 

“I didn’t raise you to be like this”

Except, you kinda did.

 

“This is why you need to double check things”

Yeah, except if I doubled everything on my to-do list I would have a life-ending anxiety attack.

 

“You should have called me”

But I thought I needed to be independent?

 

“You shouldn’t have asked for their help”

Yeah, because you’re so readily available.

 

“Do what makes you happy”

But only if you approve, right?

 

“You’re not gay”

Please tell me that while I’m licking my girlfriend’s pussy.

 

I don’t know how to make you happy anymore.

I don’t know if it’s even possible.

 

But I’ve been described as a “try-hard”

so I guess…

that means…

I haven’t given up on every one

unfortunately, just you.

 

 

 

 

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