I've got a special power:
I can look at my body from the outside
and my hands are never really mine.
I am
untouchable.
I'm floating.
My name
doesn't sound like
a real word
anymore
(I am not
a real person
anymore)
My brain
is splatted on the walls
like a Jackson *******
smelling like rotten flesh –
is it too late
to get back inside?
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
Words
can't hurt me
(especially the ones
starting with a C)
though I have a hypothesis –
I become what other people
already consider me to be
and I still can't tell apart
being crazy and just having a bad night
I'm not cold, I'm just emotionally inept
– *insert ghosts from my past creeping out
from under my bed* –
and for God's sake
stop calling me a wreck
–*insert overused metaphor
about the Titanic
and the inevitability of death*–
self-centered does make sense
– *insert weak apology
or just count the I's and me's and my's* –
but if you call me crazy
it all comes down
to the oldest question of all time –
*am I mad
or am I just wasting this life?*
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
death was never the
answer, yet is the only
possible solution.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
i. listen to lo-fi music. feel nostalgic about places you've never been to.
ii. take pictures of strangers, never of your friends.
iii. read the same book over and over for three months straight. find non-existant hidden meanings.
iv. keep five notebooks full of quotes, none full of how you're feeling.
v. write letters to imaginary people. sign them as holden caulfield, then switch to ****** then jay gatsby.
vi. look at yourself in the mirror until your eyes get out of focus. convince yourself that you're not really there.
vii. complain about being stuck in one place.
do nothing about it
stay there
don't move
you made it.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
Out of all the words
I've been called in my life
(and I've been called quite a lot of different things)
the one that stuck with me the most has to be
impossible.
I can work with cynical
I can understand cold
but I never managed to wrap my head around impossible
I'd spend hours virtually running my hands through it
dwelling on every letter
shaping my body to look like it
and I just wanted to stop existing
because how can something impossible be real
there's no place nor time for impossible
It took me a while to realize that impossible
meant that they were giving up on me
without even making an effort
because behind impossible
there's the implicit saying
“you're hard to love and I really don't want to try”
but that's okay
just like two negatives make a positive
I just had to find someone just as impossible.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
Sticks and stones
may break my bones
but dimples and freckles
will never fail
to make my heart melt.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
I don't really think
about killing myself
that much anymore.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
The worst thing about this kind of sadness
is not being able to eat or move or
write
and you can't just snap out of it
or maybe you just don't want to
because you're sort of getting used to it
and you don't know who you would be
without it
Never let an illness define who you are
otherwise when the pills start working
you'll end up with an empty body
a shell without a soul
and no words to describe
what you've been through
As I blew out the candles on my birthday cake
I wished for happiness
five years in a row
and I was sure it never came true
until I looked at pictures I didn't remember taking
and at poems I didn't remember writing
and realized I could've been happy all along
if only I hadn't focused that much on my sadness
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
Flowers are growing
on my body where your hands
touched me last time.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
How can I love you
if I even forget to
water my plants?
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC