so im laying in bed, right?
and it’s like 7 am and
i had totally told myself i was going for a run
i instead laid in bed, until exactly 9:27 am,
giving me 33 minutes to be
out of my dorm and on my way to class.
for nearly two and a half hours
a large blue beast named Depression
sat on my chest,
and smiled a big sharp grin.
he lit his cigarette and said
“It’s all pointless, you know,”
he took a long drag
and blew the smoke on my face.
Anxiety is dancing around the room
laughing maniacally
her hands shaking as she reorganizes
the same shelf for the seventh time.
he shares his cigarette with her
and I think they’re the ugliest couple i’ve ever seen.
he readjusts on my chest,
and starts to list the things that i need to do but can’t.
Anxiety starts listing the things that could go wrong today
and tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day—

when I get back from class
Anxiety will jump me
her long nails digging into my arms
the overwhelming feeling of death
surging through my veins
i struggle to breathe
i struggle to lower my heart rate--

there is a toxic relationship
living inside of my brain.
and i am so tired of being a third wheel.

e.g. rowe

PSA: the following message is the point of view of a fictional character, and in no way represents the current beliefs, views, events, mental or physical health of EMILY ROWE. her inspiration is drawn from her life and the world around her, and her writing is art, just like any other form of self expression. EMILY ROWE is a writer, and would really appreciate it if you would sit back and let the art speak to you and make you feel something. thank you.

i wake in the morning
with the taste of my own blood in my mouth
i try to remember the dreams from last night,
hair falls around my face
the sun scatters across my room
the light tries not to touch me,
the mirror grimaces
holding my reflection like a ****** weapon,
thin red lines
wrap around my waist
from the demon that chased me
under the moon's domain,
the Past is my lover
his hands around my mine
but his grip around my mind,
these are the days
that don't really feel like days at all,
these are the days that slip through my fingers.
my therapist told me to look in the mirror
and tell myself it will be a good day
and it will be so,
but the mirror hides its face from me
afraid to reveal to me what i cannot see,
or what i choose not to see.
rewind the VHS tapes
let's sit around the tv
and let the static fill our ears
and drain out the noise of our hearts.
let's unravel the thread of our souls,
watch them mingle on the bedroom floor.
we'll be screamed at to be less,
be less,
be more,
you're too much,
you're not enough...

I AM MY OWN BEING
TOO MUCH FOR THE MIRROR
NOT ENOUGH FOR THE PAST
TOO MUCH FOR MY PEERS
NOT ENOUGH FOR THOSE ABOVE ME
TOO MUCH FOR HIM
NOT ENOUGH FOR HER

in a generation of instant gratification
they do not have the patience
to watch me grow
in a generation born by the Internet
they do not see deeper
than the surface of what i put on their screens

one day they will see
what has been here inside me
since the day i first picked up a pencil.

let's sit around the tv
let's wait for the tapes to rewind
let's watch our lives unfold

Heavenly silk flows through my fingers,
slowly slowly I feel it come and go.
The soft whispers of the oak trees,
they entangle up in my hair and low.
The creek bubbles and the winds blow,
I feel it all, I feel it all.

The earth shifts between my waiting toes,
pulling me down and pushing me ahead.
The sharp green blades touch my running feet,
cutting and kissing all the wounds I've bled.
The dirt and grass on which I tread,
I feel it all, I feel it all.

Oceans and seas invite me inside,
I'm immersed in a whole new universe.
Crystals aged by pressure, time, and cruel pain,
I cut my fingers on their jewel curse.
I search his eyes as they search worse,
I feel it all, I feel it all.

Thunder rolls and lightning ignites me,
I stand fearless in a world void of sun.
Toxic rain burns my skin and chills my bones,
Still, sky and earth battle the other one,
He's the sky that shows tears to none,
except me.
I feel it all, I feel it all.

Except me, no one sees the scorched forests,
beautiful trees and mountains burned inside of him.
Except me, no one sees the scarred stripped land,
the remains of priceless land inside of him.
Except me, no one feels it all.
No one feels his pain and his sadness,
no one feels his joy and his love.
Except me,
I feel it all, I feel it all.

e.g. rowe

"While at the beach you decide to write a message in a bottle. What would it say? Who would you like to find it?"

My feet pushed into the soft yet rough sand, I held the thick parchment and heavy pen in one hand and the bottle in my other, the glass shining slightly as the sun began to set. I sat down, waves crashing on the shore one after the other. The note was already written, all except for the ending. I was never good at goodbyes. I read over my message to someone I would never meet, maybe to no one at all. But I wrote every single thing in my life that I wish I had said. Perhaps a stray mermaid would find it and deliver it to Poseidon himself and he would give me a thousand second chances in a thousand different scenarios where I don't deserve it. Maybe I should have personally told each person these things, but perhaps they had lost their meaning through Time that only the Ocean itself could swallow the weight they bore. "I love you's" and "I miss you's" that I was too scared to utter in the night, only to be stuffed in a bottle never to be heard or seen again. I held the smooth pen in my hand as a rather large wave hit the sand. I began to write my goodbye, my farewell to my should-have-done's and should-have-said's.

"I am sorry that I let my own fears become more important, you are worth so much more."

I rolled up the parchment and put it in the bottle, corking it before hurtling it far into the ocean, the sun combusting into hues of orange on the horizon in front of me.

"***** out that candle, it's too bright," he snaps, staring out the window like there's something lurking in the dark, waiting for the two of you. You lean over and blow out the tiny fire, the blaze disappearing almost instantly, nothing left but lingering smoke, rising higher until it fades into the air.

The hot wax drips down the side of the candle slowly. He stands at the window with his hands in his pockets and you sit on the couch with your legs folded. Clocks tick and you hear the air turn on. You feel the urge to touch the clocks face and push its hands back forcibly.

He finally turns around and stares at you, his eyes flashing in the dim room.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asks, exasperated of the unspoken words that weighed so heavily on the silent air.

You watch the drops of wax slightly quicken down the side of the candle. "I can keep burning this candle but the wax is still there."

"Yeah, so?" How typical of him, you think you should stop trying to touch his heart with metaphors but it's the only language you've ever known.

"I keep trying to burn away everything that happened when you were gone," you say with exhaustion as a thousand memories play in your head, "But they never really go away. Every time I set all of the memories on fire all I end up doing is burning my hands on lies and sorry excuses and broken promises, I just scorch my head and hot wax drips on my heart."

He stares at the dead candle. Maybe there's shame written across his face, maybe it's annoyance, nothing can be sure in the shadows.

"I can try and burn them away all I want, but they'll just turn to liquid wax and harden all over again." You say as the wax droplets begin to solidify on the candle.

"Then burn something else, that's a nasty smelling candle anyways." He smirks, always trying to lighten the mood.

You raise an eyebrow.

"Look, you can either spend all of your time burning these memories and reliving them, or maybe you could set yourself on fire for something new. You never know," he says, picking up the lighter and lighting the candle again, "maybe you'll find something so special that burning for it is worth all of the bad candles."

He tried his best to speak your language, it may not have been the best metaphor but his attempts were to be admired.

"What are you burning for?"

The candle flickers slightly and you think that maybe you're going to stop burning candles at 1 am when every bad memory comes into your room to haunt you.

Maybe you can be your own candle instead of living off of the yellow light of broken memories, they never really helped you see.

Candles burn and wax melts but nothing is as enduring as the human heart.

Stop trying to scrub the memories off of your heart. You'll only tear bits and pieces off of yourself and regardless still feel a raw and dull pain in your chest.

Stop crying every night into your pillow and sobbing for him to come back to you. You could bottle up your tears into mason jars and set them on your shelves only to watch the dust of a thousand lies and broken promises settle onto them. He will never come back to dry your tears so stop sobbing hoping it will bring him back.

He left. And he's not coming back.
So what are you left with?

You are left with yourself and you have to be okay with this. You have to run your fingers over your stretch marks and say, "I love these so much." You have to look at yourself in the mirror and smile.

You have to open up your window at night and see that even though he left, the stars are still hanging from the sky and even he couldn't tear them out from the fabric of the night.

You have to realize that he is only a boy with a young heart.

You have to understand that your value is measured by your laughter and your faith and your tenacity, and the way you pour sugar into your tea and the way your hair lies on your face when you wake up late on a Saturday morning and the way street lights produce shadows on your face, and the way your laughter cuts through a room. Your value is worth so much more than he could have ever deserved and cannot deteriorate because of someone's decision to leave you because they could not even fathom your worth.

You have to feel pain a thousand times before you can feel a love so deep that it strikes every chord on your heartstrings, so that you fall to your knees in relief and cry with joy because finally you hear music when someone touches your heart and not the harsh sound of glass shattering into a million pieces.

"While at the beach you decide to write a message in a bottle. What would it say? Who would you like to find it?"

My feet pushed into the soft yet rough sand, I held the thick parchment and heavy pen in one hand and the bottle in my other, the glass shining slightly as the sun began to set. I sat down, waves crashing on the shore one after the other. The note was already written, all except for the ending. I was never good at goodbyes. I read over my message to someone I would never meet, maybe to no one at all. But I wrote every single thing in my life that I wish I had said. Perhaps a stray mermaid would find it and deliver it to Poseidon himself and he would give me a thousand second chances in a thousand different scenarios where I don't deserve it. Maybe I should have personally told each person these things, but perhaps they had lost their meaning through Time that only the Ocean itself could swallow the weight they bore. "I love you's" and "I miss you's" that I was too scared to utter in the night, only to be stuffed in a bottle never to be heard or seen again. I held the smooth pen in my hand as a rather large wave hit the sand. I began to write my goodbye, my farewell to my should-have-done's and should-have-said's.

"I am sorry that I let my own fears become more important, you are worth so much more."

I rolled up the parchment and put it in the bottle, corking it before hurtling it far into the ocean, the sun combusting into hues of orange on the horizon in front of me.