its dark and soft, everywhere
danger and comfort coexisting around me
and i am tucked away in the latter
invader, middleground, muddled mind
i turn my head and there is a spear of light
two
they glow, ******* up the life and eminating pain
restriction and aggrivation
the clunk, clunk of metal and rubber
breath caught, eyes fixed
fateful and stunning, slender silver
i hate them but i cant move without them
the sheets lose their softness, my middleground slips away
i cant go back to sleep
2:08 am

research claims
that everyone needs at least 12 meaningful touches a day
just a touch that says "i see you"
"thank you" "i love you" "i missed you"
...
and living in a world where we go out of our way
to avoid meaning and intentionality
no wonder we feel lonely so much of the time
3 billion people
living a state of inpenetrability
believing that no one wants to touch them
fearing to reach out themselves
its a cycle of depravation
and its so so sad

the bathroom door has fissures
millions of curved metallic grains
all flowing together
but they etch out a raw, terrifying vision
at least, that's what it is to me: a womb
like the pentagon of an ultrasound
which would normally depict a cramped, squirming fetus
but instead, my face
staring blankly and pathetically back
but i swear im actually thinking, swirling
im trapped in this dark womb fabricated by a million
uniformed streaks

This heart inside of me
Has been living out on the streets
No need to ask how long
It just needs a home

Try as hard as it might
It's so tired of the daily grind
Wandering to and fro
In desperate search of a home

It's been out on the road for years
Making its intentions clear
How much further must this heart roam
Out there looking for a home

Not looking for sympathy
But looking to fills its needs
That's really all this heart wants
In its search for a home

No matter how far it seems
It's ready to take the leap
Knowing it can't do this alone
Ready for a home

God. How am I still not okay?

God. It's been so long.

God. I'm so tired of life right now.

God. What happened to me?

I was such a nice kid.
I was calm all the time.
Mature for my age,
Little but so lively.

I was so helpful.
So loyal.
I always supported my trust.
But I never really spoke my mind.

I was shy.
I was small.
I never stood up for my feelings
I never stood up for myself.

And now I'm older.
I realize I don't need support.
I need myself.
I need confidence.

Speaking your mind is not wrong.
Standing up for your feelings isn't rude.
Standing up for yourself isn't mean.
Saying what you feel doesn't make you imperfect.

No one's perfect. Not even them.
The ones you hate for being so amazing.
Maybe she has anxiety.
Maybe his mom is alcoholic.

No one has a perfect life.
There's not one perfect family in the world.
There is not a person in the world who's perfect.
There's not a person who doesn't have one bit of strife.

But just because you aren't perfect.
Doesn't make you less worth it.
You're amazing.
You're still charming, kind, and strong.

You're just more experienced.
You just understand some more things now.

And maybe, just maybe,
You just aren't as shy anymore.

the funny thing about futures
is that theyre hazy with trials
but at the same time so clear, you can see it for miles
can riddle you with excitement, all the way down to your core
and render you helpless in a panic attack on the floor
brighten your day
send tears down your face
wrap you in assurance and plans
look big and scary and tell you "you cant"
be the sense behind your choices
be the source of all the inside voices
be the reason you blossom into a beautiful self
or your legacy will be another unread book on the shelf

you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.