To be in the same room,
To be within inches of someone else
To only feel a universe away.

My poetically
heartwrenching problem--
Entire disassociation.

It used to frighten me,
The crippling weight of
Weightlessness

Inessence and non-stimulation,
Bearing down on my soul in what I felt
To be a repentance of past-life sins--
For what did I do to deserve
Non-feeling?

The burden of nothingness
Is
By far
More burdensome
than the accumulation
Of feeling
Everything
All
At
Once.

Autumn blows against winter,
The in-betweens of transition.
The underskirts of gold and ruby
Shedding from the Earth and skies
The woods, half-bare, half unguarded,
Almost fully vulnerable
To the terminal winter.

Some deciduous trees hold on
To summer's carbon,
Leaves clinging to the naked buds--
They call it marcescent,
Unable to abscise completely
Even when the rest of the forest
Has moved on

Left dried and clutching
Holding on all winter,
Through the biting frost
Against howling nights
When the world is dark and lifeless.

Thinking of you is like taking a large gulp
of black
bitter
tea.

I cringe before I consume it,
Before it consumes me.
Before the acrid bite wallows in my stomach,
Churning a pall of disdain.

I never liked black tea.

I write about you
Not to breathe life into you
But to give myself a wide berth,
circling your truth.

I want to feel to solace in knowing I suffered
for a reason,
Though unbeknownst
Still—

As I carry your blood, your genetic coding,
The feet that look an identical version
to yours.

I tell myself I forget,
And for the most part,
I do.
I don’t know where you are,

What you're doing,
The state of your health,
Physical
and
mental.

Your thoughts, day to day
Empty musings,
What makes you laugh
What makes you
cry

If you even still do those things anymore.

I carry much more than your feet,
your hair,
your chromosomes;

Nuances and habits of my youth
Things I do or do not do
because of
you.

And yes,
I have secured my self worth
Long after you discarded me.

Yes, I'm doing fine

And maybe one day
I will have a little boy
That looks just like you,

A reminder of my past
of how I came into this world
of what is still
inside of
me,

That you will never
know.

I would lose myself

Even at a young age I knew
To struggle with reality was a losing battle.
I gave myself to the solar system, the dark matter
Mars that burned above the horizon.

I watched night come and go.

Stars wander and fall,
Always finding their way back home

I plotted an entire life
Detached
Living in my darkened sky
Feeling the things I could not feel
In the light.

I wandered as the stars did,
Though I never found my way home.

I passed my retrograde;
I spun too passionately,
Feverishly

And fell off the edge of the universe.

It was the way she gave me that look in her eyes
Politely, yet demanding, that I kiss between her thighs.
Who was I to deny a ladies request?
Next thing I know, my tongue is writing our sins on her chest.
She undressed me slowly with her teeth
I could feel her demons hiding away in her smile beneath.

My favorite kind of ecstasy was locked away in her kiss,
she’s the only drug who let me taste true bliss.

Be gentle to yourself.
You have fought for this skin,
These eyes,
This voice.

Be gentle to the child inside of you.
When it comes to you, looking up at you
With large, watering eyes,
Brush that loose strand behind the ear
And tell them

Everything is okay

Because no one else will.

Let your thoughts devour you
If they must,
But remember to come up
For air.

Be gentle to the tiny voice inside of you,
That makes you leave your bed every day
That only wants the best
For you.

In the end,
You are all you will have.
And when you leave,
You’re going alone.

Be gentle to yourself
I’m sure if you were able to,
You would swallow this world
Whole.

Didn't really expect another one so soon? Neither did I. But it turns out that once you start walking in the gardens of death, the scent of the flowers there is overpowering. Poppy fields, blood red, sweet sleep- addicting. Your nose keeps leading you in circles even when your head warns you to watch your step.
I wish I could say this was for real. But the problem is, we all know me by now. I'm never actually going to, and that makes it hard for people to care.
"There she goes, the one always bothering us about her nonsense. Why won't she give this up already?"
I'm still trudging through my life sentence, chains on my ankles, family and friends on my wrists. It's hard for them to understand. To them, it's all "**** yourself already" or "join the rest of society." It's a waste of everyone's time otherwise.
I've become the girl who cries wolf, and everyone including me knows she's always sounding a false alarm. But god, I can't help but cry sometimes, can I? It hurts, it hurts. I bite my lips to keep from falling down the stairs.
The scent of poppies clouds around my head.
I can't help but wonder if everything I do is somehow goodbye. If maybe I'll get run over by a car on the 40 minute walk home. Or maybe I'll finally lose myself so far in this cloud of flowers that I test out the surest way to die. Just in case, I'm trying to build a pile of memories of me. Just in case one day someone needs to fill up a girl-sized space in the world. Just in case.
It's just that, no matter how grand this world seems, there's only so much to do here. There's only a few categories of gifts you can buy for people, a few types of jobs you can do. The days play on repeat, always purposeless, always fatal. And I'm trying to color them all with sunbeams and starshine, but I'm weary. One day, I don't think the lights will be warm enough. One day, I think I'm going to give up.
But not today. Today, I force my eyes open, and I watch my step. I will not stumble into a final rest among these sweet, soft flowers, lovely as it sounds.
I will not give up today.

My words used to flow effortlessly, with a breath of life blown into each letter.
Someone once told me that the alphabet was spontaneous there is absolutely no order yet everything is ordered accordingly.
I wonder if that reminds anyone of something?
Perhaps it reminds one of life, the life they are living. It’s a controlled chaos, yet based completely on nothing.
People really seem to enjoy asking the questions in life that have no answer, as if feeling the curiosity caused by these questions fills the actual hole where there is no answer.
Mankind is a conceited kind, even in the way it named itself. Before humans no color was inferior to another, it in fact was just a color once upon a time.
I find it easy to make fun of such a people especially when I am one of them. In fact that makes it almost comical.