A painting of a woman, Seen through the eyes of a girl. Wide, wondering, How she could have been so Tired. Stretched out skin, A pallor unbecmoning; An echo of teenage elasticity;^,,, Losing the plasticity of youth. Do you know her? A droll mask of age. Predictable in her grooves, The shadows haunting eyes, Heart, Mind. ...and do you mind? If she sits awhile nearby. Face reflecting on water; where she would like to be.
Opportunity is gentle in her lust.
These particles run amok and
I miss you so much.
How silly to think this was it.
A perfect fit.
A vessel of anxiety,
A boat on the high sea,
A tidal wave forgotten in this misery.
Our flame it burns so brightly
A scream rendered silent ever nightly
Running into ghosts of you
Forever stuck in September.
I've tried to make families from dozens of friends
But they never seem to stick through the end
Destructive decisions, shorter conversations.
With all of these failures I shouldn't pretend
That I've got such a lot
And if there is something missing from me
Getting by from the skin of my teeth
If you don't want me around here that's fine
It's starting to get easier
Most of the time.
My brain likes to lie to me
Saying they've all abandoned me
And every Nana Grizol song still makes me cry
I'm trying to heal
And I never had an adolescence
And that makes me bitter
And that makes me scared
I'm worried that somehow it's made me impaired.
Turn me into a melody
Someone worth singing about
Pull me from this waking dream
Tell me how to symbolize, to categorize all of my thoughts into digestible chunks for everyone
to look at,
My confidence was lost when I didn't have a tether.
Angry over grievances
Too tired to care.
I've run miles in words
But they're never good enough.
I can never get my point across and,
Simplification lacks luster.
Welcome to the end of my rope for the day.
Where body-heat has cooled to a contemplative dew.
I've never been the type to run quiet with rage
Though sometimes the silence speaks louder.
In the quiet
No one watches
No one judges
No one holds expectations
For a moment I don’t exist
And I’m grateful for the dark
Posting schedule? What posting schedule?
Oh my gosh I’ve been so inconsistent this summer. I blame the awful heat. Since school has started back up I should be back on track posting-wise though!
Who can see me through this guise,
My poorly hidden pantomimes.
I’m looking at my overbite,
My worry lines, unsightly eyes.
And once I’ve beaten all the drums,
The meter’s set, my day is done,
They’ve taken off all at a run
And I’ll be here left in disquiet
Really all I’d like to do right now is laugh.
Just laugh and laugh until I can’t remember what I was sad about anymore.
Sometimes I think if I laughed enough the whole sky could come down and I’d jump around in puddles of cloud, and the blue would be like an ocean that never boils any fish or bleaches any coral.
Once it was nighttime I’d be able to collect stars like little lightning bugs and put them in a jar, and I could swim through the inky universe and pretend I was just another galaxy floating by.
I would especially love to hang out with the moon, since she doesn’t give sunburns and always seems nice.
I hope it rains tomorrow.
I’m visiting the ghost of you.
I was hoping we could talk it through,
But I’m the one living in these old haunts of ours
And so I guess the real ghost would be me,
I am indifferent
I am closed off
I am jumping to conclusions
I am a wrinkled shirt at the bottom of the dryer
Forgotten in a frenzied morning filled with burnt coffee and runny eggs
I am a thunderclap sounding a second too late
I am a friendship bracelet frayed at the edges
I am a stomach filled with squirming snakes
I am a June night where you can’t get comfortable
No matter how many times pillows are flipped, sheep are counted, eyelids flutter. Still awake.
I am late acceptance letters
I am sleeping until noon
I am “all in your mind”
I am breaking into pieces as I shudder you apart
And as long as you let me, I will stay.
How can someone love a stunted bloom?
Same way the sun says goodnight to the moon,
Same way a dish can run away with a spoon
Differences are celebrated, but aren’t they often charged?
The moon was too shy to say hello to the sun,
And Dish often wondered whether it were Fork with which Spoon would rather run
Nuances in these “what if’s” are rather pointless, though the rate at which they’re indulged in have the potency to ruin a day, week, year.
The bloom will cry over her crooked stem, shed tears over her fallen petals but then,
What can she do?
All things grow, despite the rain,
The world finds a way to bounce back again
Every Saturday morning I see the moon in the sky, blushing sweetly at the sun as he waves her goodnight
Dish told Spoon every one of her fears, and last I heard they’ve been happy for years
The bloom is still stunted, and she smiles sadly, but last time I saw her, she looked a little taller, and her petals will come back gradually
How did I get here
How do I know
Which way is up
When will I…
I’m temperate I’ll have you believe.
You hack at me, start it off
One two three four
Who is knocking at my door
Temporal, always, yes.
Buried deep in my chest
“Have we made it yet?”
Don’t do that here.
Five six seven eight
Resistance, entreat me. They can’t be late
Interesting, be too full.
Every feat, every way, every turn. Undeveloped.
In the morning I’m silver
You’re always light blue
Why do I move. Why do I move
Finish without me I can’t take the cost
Shut me off
Been doing homework all day, so here’s one circa January 12, 2018 at 5:39pm. (I like knowing the time. Frames it better for some reason. Better guess at my mindset for weird shit like this)