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Summer is difficult.
It's beautiful, warm, rainy,
absolutely lovely.

It's so difficult to deal with it.
I want to go fishing, go swimming, go running barefoot;
I want to do all those
summery things.

All the things I used to be able to do.
If only I still could.

Tough luck, dearie.

I just have to make do.
I can write.
I can sketch.
So that's what I do.

And the summer keeps being lovely.

I listen to the rain dancing
on the roof.
I see the sun paint the sky
in all those absolutely magnificent colours
as the sun sets and rises.

The summer keeps on being lovely.
I live by the ocean. During summer I keep being reminded of the things I could do before I had my first epileptic seizures. It *****.
StormriderIX May 24
I'm drowning.
You give me
too much water!

I'm drowning.
There are so many
thoughts
in this mind of mine.
I'll have cried a river of
tears
before the night is passed.
I'm drowning.

I'm wilting.
I get too much sun
in this window!

I'm wilting.
There's too much
pressure
on me while I'm all but alright.
I don't know how
I could ever be
enough.
I'm wilting.

I'm breaking.

Slowly, on the inside,
in the depth of my
soul,
I am breaking,
drowning in thoughts,
wilting away.

I am drowning.
I am wilting.
I am broken.

And I am not enough.
StormriderIX May 24
You
say you want
to help
me.

You don't accept
when my answer
is that you
can't.

When my answer
is that I want
you to
stay away.

When my answer
doesn't
make you
happy.

So you tell me
I accuse you
all the time.

So you tell me
I'm the one
at fault.

And still.
Still.
I.
Care.
Ah, yes. Trying to talk to someone. But I'm not good enough. Cue anxiety-attack.
StormriderIX May 2
I light
the four candles
one at a time.

I place my mask
on my face.

The music
is wild
and somber.

I dance
and dance
and dance.

At some point
I stop thinking.

I just dance
and dance
and dance.

I hurl my frustration
into the
candles of change.

My thoughts are
a whirling
swirling cloud.

I draw strength
from these
fires of fury.

I dance
and I dance
and I dance.

I ground myself.

I give
the furious strength
back.

I go deeper.
I find
new strength within.

Not frustration.
Not fury.
But acceptance.

I smile.
I take my mask
off.

And I keep dancing.
Happy late Beltane everyone!
StormriderIX Apr 25
How
can you say
I make everything
complicated?

You
didn't even want
to try
to understand.

Why
do you refuse
to even try
to understand me?

I
wanted to talk,
explain
my point of view.

You
say you want
nothing
to do with my faith.

You
do not think
it important
to support my identity.

      Still
      I care
      about
      you.

You
said I
wouldn't care
if you died.

Not once.
Not twice.
But thrice.

How
can you say
these things to
your own daughter?

Once in fury.
Twice I have some doubt.
Thrice I know.
           You just struck out.
StormriderIX Apr 24
I'm an ill omen,
I'm told.

It doesn't faze me.
I just put my mask on.

I become
a puzzle,
a labyrinth,
impossible to read,
not me anymore.

I'm an ill omen,
I'm told.

I wear my mask.
I'm fine.


I cry rivers inside.

You can't see how it breaks me.
You can't see how you hurt me.

I realised only now.

This isn't good.
This isn't alright.

Just because I can take it,
doesn't mean I should.

I bow out from this hell.

I will no longer apologise
for being me.

I'm an ill omen,
I'm told.  
                 Your loss.
StormriderIX Apr 22
Sketchy.

Suspicious?

No
of course
not!

Sketchy!

Pencil?

Of course
I start
with pencil!

Sketchy.

What?

I'll sketch
a person,
of course.

Sketchy.

Hm.

It's a
person
on the run.

Sketchy indeed.
Suspicious enough.
I'm a bit of a jack of all trades in art. Writing, both fiction and poetry, and sketching.
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