i say keep your memories
treasure them
both good and bad
they capture a specific moment in your life
a specific feeling
you can go back and look on them
and think
"how emotional i was"
or consider
"how happy i was"
you never experience
the same version of an emotion twice
so keep your memories,
and treasure
those screenshots of life you experience.

Cry.
Take deep breaths--
but tears leak out anyway.
More shuddering breaths.
Go upstairs.
Take a bit of time on the last step,
and lean backwards.
Relish in the briefest moment of uncertainty.
A fleeting thought about
wanting to fall down, have the earth swallow,
blackness.
Force that thought away.
Arrive at the bathroom.
Quick glance at mirror, confirm disheveled appearance.
Grab toilet paper.
Blow nose rhythmically,
left nostril first,
then right.
All better.
All better.
All better, right?
Tears again.
Guess not.

She brushed her fingertips gently,
just barely, and
just enough to let her know
that yes,
she knew,
and that yes,
she still loves her just the same.

The girl didn't respond,
but gave a tiny smile,
to let the other know
that yes,
she was grateful for the acceptance
and the comfort,
and that thanks,
she loves her too.

it's a dull word itself
to describe a dull event
in which you feel dull
living
but not living
in a routine schedule
that you call "life"
and where you pretend
like everything is okay
with how you're "living".
i say "living" with
sarcasm,
because if you were
truly okay with monotony
with having a scheduled life
you wouldn't use the word itself
in describing how you are--
monotone.

why does inspiration hit me
at the most unlikely
of times?
when i'm in the shower
scrubbing the remains of the day away
and my brain goes
an idea, madam?
or when i'm awake at 12 am
seconds away from passing out
and my brain goes
a tiny suggestion ma'am?
but then,
how could you be mad
at yourself though?
why would you complain
about the newfound creativity
your brain seems to find
with every step of the way?

Why does my head hurt
When I try to talk
To people who don’t
Quite understand
What I’m about.

Why does my head throb
When I realize that
People don’t care
To understand
What I’m saying.

Why does my head go fuzzy
When I type rapidly
Trying to extract
Feelings not yet there
And put them on paper.

Why does my head quit
When I’m about to reach
The so-called epiphany
The achievement of
Being able to express.

Why do I try
To make this understandable
For everyone? Doesn’t
reading this only make
your head hurt?

I don’t know myself.
Sure, I know what I like and dislike. Everyone who’s lived with themselves should know this.
But do I really know myself, just from my likes and dislikes?
Do I know how I truly act in front others?
How I act in front of myself?
Why I act in a certain way? Why I find myself happy one moment—
And then suddenly angry the next—
And then depressed the next—
And in the end—
The overwhelming,
Drowning, yet
rational feeling,
Telling me, over and over,
“No one will understand you.
Stop acting crazy.
Why are you even like this.”
No loud screaming,
No over-the-top crying,
No excessive movements.
I silently churn out feelings
In bed, with tears on the pillow
When no one else is around me.
When I’m alone
At 12:35 a.m,
Sunday.