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Mean every word
Every word on here is or once was a piece of me. I mean what I say. I write what I mean. Some stories get twisted in the mix. But I always come back to me. It always comes back to me. One of the hardest parts of wearing your heart on your sleeve is you expect honesty from everyone you meet. You assume that vulnerability will be mirrored, that speaking your truth will invite truth tellers; that someone will handle your unvarnished feelings with the same care. Well, it doesn’t always happen that way. Sometimes people take your openness as an invitation, and sometimes they take it as an…
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Tired, truly
Tired, truly. Of words that fall out reckless from careless tongues; half-formed, half-thought, like they were never meant to mean anything at all. How can’t they see or understand pain unless it’s theirs to claim? How can their eyes never learn to read truth unless it flatters them? Tired, truly. This thing once called common sense now feels rarer than peace, rarer than listening. This blindness to another’s ache. How strange. Tired, truly. Of being weighed, measured, and still found suspicious for just existing without apology, for being ambiguous. Tired, truly. Of being the quiet storm holding the walls up when others crumble. The twenty-four-seven adult in every room; steady,…
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The day I die
The day I die I hope it is timely. I hope it’s mild and sunny while I love the rain I hope it doesn’t rain when my loved ones lay me down to rest By the time I die I hope I’ve traveled as much as I once dreamed of when my heart pumped up blood By the time I die I hope I’ve paid all my dues if it means I won’t become a burden on anyone The day I die I hope my mom won’t see, a literal pain is the last thing I want to be The day I die I hope the silent haters won’t come…
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Freezing Warm Sunday Morning
Warm Sunday morning. 11:11 on the clock. Been sitting here since nine sharp. Why can’t I get up, I wonder, as if it doesn’t happen enough times for me to know freezing like this is no surprise. The fatigue of a long past week condensed all at once. I subconsciously try making the feeling of calmness last. And the transition from waking to rising takes its time, it plays by ear, so accordingly I hold back. It’s the reflection of the sun through the blinds that I can’t stop looking at, displayed on the white ceiling like an art installation, is it not? And the ceiling fan spinning nonstop on…
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Without trying
Sometimes I get up in the morning with the sunshine on my face, and I look in the mirror and I sing and I dance, and appreciate the life in my reflection. I want to wear my vibrancy out loud and dress to impress when I get this rush, this need to be and do the most; to occupy every single space and minute with anything other than breathing, to conquer the world — whatever that may mean these days. I just want to do so much I feel the burn in my veins. And then come the down days. My depressive episodes get the best of me. I sit…
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Words – they mean things
Big, like an enthusiastic move like today’s news like my dreams my energy, like my blues Bright, in my eyes, like the light in my room Soft, like my touch, like my shadow like my heart like my voice Deep, like my soul like your sleep like my love like the ocean; a cliché we all know I must do Painful, like a period like last year like the days you weren’t near Lonely, Like the desert like a ship in the open sea like the new me overseas like Britney in ’99 Like wandering eyes in the twilight Beautiful, like some words like kindness, like spring like a genuine…
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Seen, heard, written all over
My eyes close on a good day and a verse writes itself, turn on the water in the shower and by the end I’ve written a page But tonight, under the dull stars nearing March, my mind as cluttered as the sky can only hear words get stuck as my eyelids touch my under-eye Mistrust is now normalcy and instead of asking why I wish they could see who made these eyes cry Cause it might be cluttered but my mind’s still running and written on its corners are their names all over.
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Fetal is Home — a Poem
Be it the time of flowers Days of snow, When too much sunshine Darkens my glow Rain on my shoulders A punch in the gut Pulls my weight down My airways are shut No safe haven found in seasons No comfort for an aching soul My bed holds me in all positions But it knows fetal is home, I feel whole.
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Echoing Thoughts and Unknown Answers
I tried to write something uplifting, something cute, something not only inspirational to me but to others. I tried to do that this evening because I wanted to stay away from the usual melancholic tone of my posts. For once, I tried to paint this in a different color, but came back with the same shades of blue. Let’s just state, or reiterate, that forced “happy” thoughts make no echo, though. When I read others’ poems/stories/words, I want to find a connection. I want to know that it was worth every second. Somehow, I want to relate: awaken my mind, provoke me, trigger my deepest thoughts, arouse me, inspire me,…
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Lessons Collected Gone Unlearned
No fall air was cool enough. No comfort found in words. Every little sound in the soulless night was a sinking hole. But their words… those words against the screen screamed like deep red blood. Seen by the blind, a voice heard by the deaf, mind read by the nescient. A nonexistent heart beat that could be found without a stethoscope. Disregard. Betrayal. Egotism. Use… All of the above. The kind of feeling no mortal should ever have to experience. How do I know? I’ve lived long enough. Rubbed all in your face when you’ve been nothing but kind, careful with your own words, hoping to kill not even a…
