Stories · writing

Pressurized Sentiment

Sometimes being an adult feels like an elongated version of deciding what to play when you’re a kid

Run around until dusk and your only concerns are when lunch or dinner is.

I liked that because it was a lot simpler

You didn’t have a lot of options so you just sort of experienced whatever was in your path

I remember waking up without a plan and just being excited to get out and “explore” even though I could easily run around our neighborhood with my eyes shut,

But I always found something new. A family of rabbits, a conversation with a mockingbird, stashing a makeshift time capsule in the safe crook of a tree.

I really don’t like how far away that feels, sometimes. I get caught up in this day-to-day

Worrying over every word I say

Am I creative or am I just fueled by consumption of media

Am I smart or do I just parrot words that I hear

What part of me is me and what parts are a conglomerate of everything else?

And do I live for myself?

Hard to tell.

I have yet to sort it all out.

Poems · writing

A Message

I woke up one morning, seventeen, and a ghost had left a message for me. Ominous words written down in a digital hand, that I have since transcribed to paper. I’ve never been one to believe in visits from another realm, and indeed any “experiences” I’ve had since then have done nothing to recreate the feeling of utter violation and dread I felt that day, reading words that I knew were not mine.

Yet, something about it.

“Where was I half the time?”

Felt vaguely…familiar. The structure of the poem wasn’t my style, but the language seemed close to what I’d written in the past.

Had I somehow found a way to send a message to an earlier-version me? And why 3:29pm? Why hadn’t I noticed it that afternoon instead of the next morning?

I know how crazy this sounds, but I just can’t get it out of my head. Its been almost six years and I still think about it. Nothing I’ve found online can explain where it’s from, they’re not lyrics, not a quote, it’s like they conjured themselves into my phone for me to find and no one else.

I’m attaching a picture from when I wrote the words down in my notebook. I don’t like looking at them too long because they make me feel a little sick, but I’ll copy them below, too, in case my writing was a little shaky.

EDIT: I’m realizing that the original, below, has three opening lines instead of the two I had written down initially. Operator error? Or has it changed again? I need to look into this.


Where was I half the time?

Where was I half the time?

Where was I half the time?

All these colors

All these colors

Haunting my heart

Haunting my heart

Where is my mother?

Where is my father?

Where is my mother?

Poems · writing

Lover’s Descent

Orpheus, I’ve often wondered, why did you look if you knew your love was behind you?

But time and distance, silence and pain are enemies of love.

You feared she was gone.

I understand now. That longing, burning sensation of loss. You won’t know if you’ve made it until you see the light, or turn around and watch your life taken away.

Small mistakes tumbling down and piling up

Unfortunate lies soon discovered bury us under their once insignificant weight

Where were we living that we were so free?

What ever gave us the idea of exception from pain?

A child’s naivety

A Romantic heart

We’re torn apart

I do miss you.


I forgot to post yesterday! That’s my April Fool’s prank, I suppose. This is one from a couple months ago

Poems · writing

Feverish

The orange blossoms on your sweet tooth yellow at me as I smile at you and I can’t gather these withering flowers with ugly dreams, nasty fiends, knocking at my door

What is it for?

Single melodies playing all around pretend to revel in its percussive sound

You know I’ll always be around

Until I’m not.

Who’s happy with their lot when all you are is what you’ve got

Distracted fingers memorize stop lights and bruises, alcoholic cruises melt into me and out of you

Liquid malnourishment

Find your tongue is spent working its way through the cash in my wallet

Blue rubber bands paperback hands jumping frogs and mildew incense

Innocence lost lost lost in every note

Feverish pursuit, bulbous trees taking root,

I’m too late.

Poems · writing

Out Of Line

Frost bitten, love ridden

Cracked and bitter lips frame one of those smiles that keep you up at night sometimes

My coat does nothing to keep out the cold.

In this quiet kind of sadness,

I’m missing those warmer months.

A trapeze.


A shorter one from a couple months ago