If I were a moneyed human,
I would buy us our first home.
I would buy the paint and knick-knacks
to decorate it as our own.
With this imaginary wealth,
I would buy every single book
and gently place them on the shelves
that would surround our breakfast nook
If I could stay this prosperous,
I would buy the L-shaped sofa
for our beautiful living room,
with the sandalwood aroma
If I could remain affluent,
I would buy anything to showcase
how very much your love has meant
to this silly, lonely nutcase
but I am not an up-scale girl,
I have no pennies to my name
I sadly can't buy you the world
and that truth brings me so much shame
but although I'm poor in pocket,
I'm super filthy rich in love!
so please accept my deposit
I hope for now that it's enough.
I couldn't afford a valentines gift. or anything at all.
I am tired.
I am tired of not sleeping. Tired of trying to stay awake, because each time I try to sleep every bad thought and guilty feeling consumes my mind’s fatigue and internalises the stress into energy. My anxiety can keep my mind running all night long. I am tired of running without crossing any distance. Running without moving is an exercise my mind is too out of shape to survive. I’m tired of running away. Each step pounds the point home that I am a coward. Each pound pushes the earth down until it reaches the other-side, causing another step along the way. The eternal footrace soldiers on thanks to the anxiety engine.
I’m tired of fear. Repetitive worry exhausts every other thought from existing, so fear becomes the constant state. I’m so fluent in fear that I twitch at every sound and grip at every surface. My mouth is so prepared to scream that simple phrases of love and compassion, or even pleasantries and common courtesy involve intense concentration to untie my tongue.
I am tired of the silence. Silence from those who don’t have the seconds to spare to consider these issues, silence from the loved ones who refuse to understand, silence from the health professionals who seem to know more about pushing drugs then pushing information. I am tried of the silence I am shackled to by a condition that hides in thousands of names and symptoms.
I am tired of crying. I am tired of being unable to control a torrent of pointless salt and shame every time I need to ask a question in a train station or a bank. Countless scenarios with incalculable varying outcomes drain me, I cannot prepare for technology to fail, for accidents, for unhinged passers by or the end of the world. I cannot prepare for anything. I cannot control anything. Not even tears.
I am tired of not sleeping, I am tired of not waking, I am tired of running and running away, I am tired of crying, I am tired of caring, I am tired of dreaming, I am tired of trying… I am tired of being tired.
So ******* tired.
Your cow pajamas make me smile.
Their pink, covered in little bubbly bovines, and they smell like you.
As much as I love them for their adorable nature, they would be so much better if you were actually wearing them.
there needs to be legs inside these pink threads.
there needs to be toes poking out the end.
there needs to be a belly for the cows to cling onto, in order to stay put.
without you, they do not really have a purpose.
they were carelessly flung onto your side of the bed when you left.
and now they occasionally end up on my chest, cuddled to me, in a pathetic attempt to remember your scent.
nothing is as cute without you. not even cow pajamas.
this is truly awful, but I wanted to post something.
a shrugged jacket,
leaving arms to sudden cold.
it's so alone in this room.
yet every option is open
plans are made
and I am mad at the existance
of it all.
keep it in mind, don't stray
we all have to let go, at times.
You seemed like a token at first,
as horrible as that sounds.
like a decoration for the girls,
a novelty to have around.
you squealed at the right songs,
and put colours in your hair,
you listened to their love stories,
and you seemed eager to share
but I judged you naively,
I presumed and decided.
I should of seen through, to reality
I should have tried to meet David.
Because you are smarter than I
ever bothered to determine.
the beauty and depth you hide
behind a charming, perky curtain
I'm sorry for not seeing you
for who you truly were
a soul, like mine, self tortured
complicated, and hurt.
but now, we've found each other.
you surprise me every day.
David, In you I have discovered
a friend I'd never change.
more challengings with David Watt, we tried writing about each other.
It's like skipping to the end of the book.
you know the outcome, but miss the fun of reaching the end naturally.
that's how it feels.
or it's more like a deadline. quite literally, in fact.
you must have done this much, by this time, or... well... who really knows?
now is not the time to reflect on the spiritual aspect.
there are things to do. and to prepare.
things need to be organised, papers need to be signed...
people need to be informed.
oh, why. not only do I have to meet this fate, I also have to forewarn the ones I love of it. as if the knowledge of what is impending wasn't bad enough.
I have to see their faces as they accept it.
I have to see the tears and the shock.
I have to witness how they love me, in the worst yet most beautiful way.
How do you divide your life into boxes to go to different people?
how do you say good bye, finally?
How can I be expected to do this? to handle this?
how does anyone do it?
do I just say "Hey universe! thanks for having me, it's been swell! say hi to God for me!" or is it more than that?
Do I need to say anything at all?
can't I just lie here... and wait?
or is that all I've done my whole life?
all we do is wait to die.
another of me and David Watt's challenges.
words intertwined like legs.
in everything you said.
naive yet wise with tide,
your mistakes pushed your stride...
and I admired, yet
knew pity welled inside.
You were used, aborted.
You were just paraded
You were just escorted
you were smart yet you allowed
yourself to be their crown.
I could never catch you
I wanted to obtain
one night of our passion
capsulised, for me
to look back on, remember.
the idol, the puzzle
the sheer depth
yet lack of
the ultimate of you.