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”.

 

And this is what depression is.

Having one thing, yearning for more,

then scolding

yourself

for

wanting

more.

 

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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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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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