Someone worth knowing, an efficient dabbler, a ravenous curiosity, accepting and broad-minded. A scared kid holding their breath, frozen, evading detection. The mysterious, wise man, sitting on the stoop and talking to the stars as old friends. An intensely pressurized canister, begging physics to fail this one time, please. Someone seeking, observing, collecting information, curious people, old memories. The space between tracks on a record, a blip of absolute nothing; panacea to the strung-up, beat down, run ragged. I am standing on top of the hill, staring defiantly into the wind as it whips through me. I write these words as truly as I can, knowing that language can convey only so much, and I am so much more than that.
I still remember tempting fate Feeling strong, invincible, On a dark street corner. I still laugh and tell you these stories To make light of my missed connections & forget the storm my mind still is. “How much more can I take?” Over & over this question returns And “I just want one thing to be easy,” One thing to diminish the stack Precariously balanced as I toe the line Obediently, one foot in front And you keep stacking And I keep walking Like some day I could Stop.
We are where we are and that makes sense. Many of us are confused and hurting right now, asking how we could possibly be in this situation. I feel that; I understand; but there’s a deeper problem, a deeper wound that humanity is terrified to face. The root of suffering. And what is that? Well, if we all truly understood it, there would be no reason to fear it… but I’ll try. Human beings don’t know what it is to be just that; human. The unnatural is overwhelming the natural, has been suffocating it for so long, that we feel a part of these unnatural forces. If we wish not to be a part of this, it is very difficult to survive. Here’s what I think: we are all addicted to suffering, to outrage, to bigness… to the extremes, to retaliation. We all want to stand by and stand as our beliefs, our morals, our worldview. We become it, and to criticize it is an attack on ourselves. There is no compromise. It’s division with no one willing to budge an inch even if it might result in a peaceful
It’s the end of the world Again. The season of apocalypse, Looming in our minds since Y2K— It feels a little silly, now, That 1s and 0s were our greatest threat. It’s the end of the world, or at least, Someone’s. I scroll through videos of airstrikes, tanks, blood pooling under car doors, a night sky lit up like the Fourth of July, While laying comfortably in bed, free to click away If the sight’s too much to bear. But when I put the phone down And turn off the lights, My eyes stay locked on the ceiling. I feel this icy vise around my throat Getting tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and tighter, As I wait for the bomb to drop, Or the sound of gunshots, Or a scream in the night, Or a meteor to crash through the roof. It’s the end of the world, But not quite yet. Not tonight, But maybe tomorrow, or maybe A year, five years, twenty years from now. I’ll be ready, eyes locked on the ceiling, Waiting for the walls to crumble away So I can look out into the stars one last
If you decide to take me on, I might first suggest to reconsider.
The first glow is like moonlight and you can feel it in your teeth
like cotton candy milkshake—so I see how you doubt my self-image,
pity-laugh my self-deprecation.
I’m sure I’ll laugh along— I’m a good sport. Remember the gritted teeth
and wandering eyes, though; I know what I’m talking about.
If I decide to let you in, just know that I’m not, really.
It’s not personal, I promise—
I’ve gotten so good at lying to everyone else that it’s starting to feel real.
You’ll mull over my stories whe
It isn’t difficult for me to keep it in--
But I wish it was.
I want to be able to scream
When the friction rises,
Confront my illogical thoughts
Rather than swallowing,
Instead of crushing it into something I can manage.
Why should I be the only one to know me?
What’s so wrong with saying what I mean,
Even if it pushes people away?
I don’t really have so much to lose--
There’s a gain and loss in anything I choose.
Yet, I am frozen in this fear,
Locked up in perfecting my next sentence.
When there is so much you want to say,
Days of words that would only graze the surface
Of what you’re really getting at,
Where
Someday, I hope to look back to this time
Not with resentment, but with appreciation.
When you’ve been in the process of breaking for so many years,
When that moment comes; the ultimate and complete shattering;
It is quiet.
**
My therapist tells me I’m sensitive
And that it’s a good thing,
But at some point
I need to figure out
What I want, & who
I am. It’s easy to know others;
Your barriers can only hold so much weight.
Sometimes I can absorb what you say about me,
But I am like a sponge, & one day
Can completely wring me dry.
**
I keep saying I need to see a chiropractor,
But haven’t looked into it yet.
For
Someone worth knowing, an efficient dabbler, a ravenous curiosity, accepting and broad-minded. A scared kid holding their breath, frozen, evading detection. The mysterious, wise man, sitting on the stoop and talking to the stars as old friends. An intensely pressurized canister, begging physics to fail this one time, please. Someone seeking, observing, collecting information, curious people, old memories. The space between tracks on a record, a blip of absolute nothing; panacea to the strung-up, beat down, run ragged. I am standing on top of the hill, staring defiantly into the wind as it whips through me. I write these words as truly as I can, knowing that language can convey only so much, and I am so much more than that.
I still remember tempting fate Feeling strong, invincible, On a dark street corner. I still laugh and tell you these stories To make light of my missed connections & forget the storm my mind still is. “How much more can I take?” Over & over this question returns And “I just want one thing to be easy,” One thing to diminish the stack Precariously balanced as I toe the line Obediently, one foot in front And you keep stacking And I keep walking Like some day I could Stop.
We are where we are and that makes sense. Many of us are confused and hurting right now, asking how we could possibly be in this situation. I feel that; I understand; but there’s a deeper problem, a deeper wound that humanity is terrified to face. The root of suffering. And what is that? Well, if we all truly understood it, there would be no reason to fear it… but I’ll try. Human beings don’t know what it is to be just that; human. The unnatural is overwhelming the natural, has been suffocating it for so long, that we feel a part of these unnatural forces. If we wish not to be a part of this, it is very difficult to survive. Here’s what I think: we are all addicted to suffering, to outrage, to bigness… to the extremes, to retaliation. We all want to stand by and stand as our beliefs, our morals, our worldview. We become it, and to criticize it is an attack on ourselves. There is no compromise. It’s division with no one willing to budge an inch even if it might result in a peaceful
It’s the end of the world Again. The season of apocalypse, Looming in our minds since Y2K— It feels a little silly, now, That 1s and 0s were our greatest threat. It’s the end of the world, or at least, Someone’s. I scroll through videos of airstrikes, tanks, blood pooling under car doors, a night sky lit up like the Fourth of July, While laying comfortably in bed, free to click away If the sight’s too much to bear. But when I put the phone down And turn off the lights, My eyes stay locked on the ceiling. I feel this icy vise around my throat Getting tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and tighter, As I wait for the bomb to drop, Or the sound of gunshots, Or a scream in the night, Or a meteor to crash through the roof. It’s the end of the world, But not quite yet. Not tonight, But maybe tomorrow, or maybe A year, five years, twenty years from now. I’ll be ready, eyes locked on the ceiling, Waiting for the walls to crumble away So I can look out into the stars one last
If you decide to take me on, I might first suggest to reconsider.
The first glow is like moonlight and you can feel it in your teeth
like cotton candy milkshake—so I see how you doubt my self-image,
pity-laugh my self-deprecation.
I’m sure I’ll laugh along— I’m a good sport. Remember the gritted teeth
and wandering eyes, though; I know what I’m talking about.
If I decide to let you in, just know that I’m not, really.
It’s not personal, I promise—
I’ve gotten so good at lying to everyone else that it’s starting to feel real.
You’ll mull over my stories whe
It isn’t difficult for me to keep it in--
But I wish it was.
I want to be able to scream
When the friction rises,
Confront my illogical thoughts
Rather than swallowing,
Instead of crushing it into something I can manage.
Why should I be the only one to know me?
What’s so wrong with saying what I mean,
Even if it pushes people away?
I don’t really have so much to lose--
There’s a gain and loss in anything I choose.
Yet, I am frozen in this fear,
Locked up in perfecting my next sentence.
When there is so much you want to say,
Days of words that would only graze the surface
Of what you’re really getting at,
Where
Someday, I hope to look back to this time
Not with resentment, but with appreciation.
When you’ve been in the process of breaking for so many years,
When that moment comes; the ultimate and complete shattering;
It is quiet.
**
My therapist tells me I’m sensitive
And that it’s a good thing,
But at some point
I need to figure out
What I want, & who
I am. It’s easy to know others;
Your barriers can only hold so much weight.
Sometimes I can absorb what you say about me,
But I am like a sponge, & one day
Can completely wring me dry.
**
I keep saying I need to see a chiropractor,
But haven’t looked into it yet.
For
It isn’t difficult for me to keep it in--
But I wish it was.
I want to be able to scream
When the friction rises,
Confront my illogical thoughts
Rather than swallowing,
Instead of crushing it into something I can manage.
Why should I be the only one to know me?
What’s so wrong with saying what I mean,
Even if it pushes people away?
I don’t really have so much to lose--
There’s a gain and loss in anything I choose.
Yet, I am frozen in this fear,
Locked up in perfecting my next sentence.
When there is so much you want to say,
Days of words that would only graze the surface
Of what you’re really getting at,
Where
the third time i call, you pick up and i say by MisfitableGrae, literature
Literature
the third time i call, you pick up and i say
yesterday i walked past the diner where we fell in love,
and i thought i saw the waitress wave at me as i went
by and i realized that the most terrible thing
in the whole world would be you rereading all those text messages
i sent you when i was stupid in love. those weren’t meant for you, okay,
those were for the boy who split his milkshake with me and
held my hand through an entire season of Friends and
sat with me in silence on dirty rooftops while we smoked stolen cigarettes.
look, i didn’t even mean to call the first time, but i was
drunk and high and cold and my old favorite song
came on the radio and i remembered how much
My ankle
My wrist
My thighs
My arms
All covered in battle scars
My past attacks me
From deep down inside.
All my feelings
I must hide.
I keep inside
My deepest secrets and lies
And release it on my skin
Where no one can find.
It bleeds nonstop
Then it makes a scratch
Soon it starts to itch
And creates a nasty rash.
Though soon it dries
And no matter how large
The scratch fades
And becomes my battle scar.
Its hard to stop
I love the sight
Of the way my skin looks
In the day and at night.
Its the look of the scars
That always remind me
Of my battle with a demon
That only I can see.
The only bad side
Is explaining
She has scars on her hips
Lies laced on her lips
Broken stars in her grey eyes
Quiet goodbyes in her sighs
Yet she'll smile and say "I'm fine"
And I want to tell her not to lie
But there's something in that bright smile
That hints at a multitude of despairing trials
That she'll never be ready to talk about
And her quiet voice seems to shout
To the heavens above, calling for someone to save her
But she swears she doesn't believe in God. Under
Those clothes I've seen them, the scars
Yet she compares them to fallen stars
Once bright and sharp like the blades that she uses
But becoming stains of red and blue, she abuses
The trust that her loved o
i.
wet feet in the sand,
as foreign waves lap
at my toes enticing
me with wonders to come
ii.
the days meld together
into a blur of shadows
with names--
but you, you still
burn within
my veins.
iii.
all work and no play
makes
me feel
c a g e d.
iv.
i’ve traded soft shores
for rocky roads that
lead to places i’m
not sure i want to go.
v.
i’m staring into the
eye of the storm,
hands trembling;
i don’t know
if i’ll make it out
alive...
vi.
i’m walking on eggshells
vii.
i imagine all the things
we could be
viii.
i’m listening to the
same playlist but
there’s something sad
about th
if only i could sleep for a straight week maybe then i would feel rested
also, halloween is coming soon... makes me happy
ever heard of green pumpkins? neither did i and now they're growing in my yard
no, they're not too early to pick, they're actually meant to be green.
they're little rebels. i like it.
hi anyone reading this.. I am planning on writing a long piece, maybe even a short kind of book. so I'll be posting mostly snapshots of it thorough out the process... I'm excited :)