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its the way that
im the same fucking person i was in 2020 and if that doesnt mean i did something so right or something so wrong then i dont know what the fuck to say. all my interests are still my interests. guess im just consistent. still feel unseen so i push to be seen in what then horrifies me. i feel
confident in who i am and happy to exist depending the day and happy to how found love in the dirt and hope in the sky and that light switch is mine again. and so im here piecing it together like a rag doll ripped to shreds put back together and sat up right against the window. and i cant wait to be healed by the sun again. and humbled by the rain. but im still going out in the rain. and i hear what you said to me in the car over and over and over again. and itll loop until it exhausts itself and then your words will slip away. youve slipped away. and thats just the way it needed to be. ive always clung stronger to words than people anyways. unsure if its a choice at this point. but we're here and we move forward and i still yell in the car on my way home and cling to past but still push forward. im nervous mostly scared unsure of what to do or how to say anything well ever.
and so we're back and here and lost still but a little less. proud and sad and missing it. but
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uuu
1 am writes hit the most. its when the distress is higher than usual. couple drinks in so the keyboard is wobbly. feels asymmetrical. feels like when you left. so much to say but none of it being what you want to hear. what did you want to hear? im still scrambling for answers myself. doesn’t feel like it’ll ever be cohesive. doesn’t feel like i’ll ever be cohesive. temporary mess feels like its eternal. this is eternal. i want to stop feeling like i miss you.
but i miss you.
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front page
the page is turning. the book is almost closed. I can feel it.
Can’t wait to start my new read.
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5/4
Write until it makes sense. Write until the gold chain of life is unraveled and free of knots.
Until then, smooth out the kinks. Slick back the baby hairs. Dot the i’s and cross your t’s. wash the spoon sitting in the sink. tuck the back of your shirt in, consciously hiding underneath that cardigan. Run the last .1 mile of your run. Sprint to the finish line.
Write until all the hangers face the same direction. Until every pothole is full. write until you don’t need that apology anymore. write until the empathy runs out. write until your birthmark slips out of your chlorophyll-colored eye. Until the canvas is full. Until the canvas screams empty.
And then when that is all said and done, write until it no longer makes sense. Life doesn’t make sense. Take that in, breath in its smoke, twirl its hair, ball your chain up again. Then write about that.
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despair in the form of a tumblr post
It just kinda hits like a wave of sadness. There’s no wind chimes signaling its arrival. No on-my-way text. From one minute to another, it’s here. She’s here and he’s here, too. They all file into my room and just stare and my skin turns red, my stomach flustered, and my brain jaded. Sometimes, the anxiety makes the tear ducts in my eyes swell. It’s like all the white blood cells flood to the back of my eyes to fight sadness. It binds itself to every opening on my face. Can’t breath or cry. Don’t wanna hear, any less think.
It kinda feels like a midwest-ass day. Sunny, gloomy, mostly cloudy, chance of meatballs, snow, a drizzle of rain. I like the night sky. It disguises the weather. Night is night is night is night.
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