when i look
in the mirror,
i do not see the
“oh my god, you’re so skinny,”
i do not see the
“you need to eat more,”
not the
“there’s no way you’re not anorexic,”
not the
“i wish my body looked like yours.”
when i look
in the mirror,
i see the
“you’re fat,”
i see the
“she’s skinnier than you,”
i see the
“you need to be skinny, or you won’t get a husband,”
i see the
“eat less,”
i see the
"you need to be the skinniest one in your friend group,"
i see the
trans fat
saturated fat
cholesterol
sodium
dietary fiber
sugar
protein
Calorie Count.

i live cursed.

am i strange? why do i think differently than everyone around me?

it's like i'm captive; stuck in a prison of people who don't see me.
and as i ramble about existentialism
you think to yourself, 'what are they talking about'.
but it was never really a question.

it was a declaration:
an ostracism,
a confession to deceiving me,
a rouse to make me feel sane,
an internal whisper to yourself.

and i make futile attempts to remain sane even though i have forced myself to confront my arbitrary existence while you go out and give no second thought to the meaninglessness of your reality or the chaos you live in.

i live cursed.

however, make no mistake.
because,
although i
live
cursed, i
myself
am not
cursed.

for while i live cursed with the painful knowledge that i am alone,
forever destined to know and accept that my reality exists to no one else,

you do not want to confront your isolation.
you run:
to alcohol,
to toxic relationships,
to nicotine,
to others.

in hopes that maybe
maybe
please
maybe
that one of these times,
you'll be strong enough to face it.

maybe after the next hit
maybe after the next shot
maybe after the next argument
you'll see.

but there again, you falter.
you see, make no mistake of that. because if you didn't see, what would you be fleeing? no, you are well aware of your isolation.

but you fear isolation
you fear lack of affirmation
you need the opinions of others
you crave love
you grasp for some concept of a communal reality
and death terrorizes you through it all.

and so, while i know undoubtedly that i become a little less sane with each agonizing moment of existence,

my isolated state of being
will always
be less alone
than your cowardice.

It's all very overwhelming.


It's like an acid trip.


There are a lot of colors. There are a lot of sounds.


There's a certain serenity in that trip state.


There's too much happening.


Focus on the colors. Focus on the sounds.


What about my rationale?


Let the waves roll over you.


This is too much.

Give in.

No. I have to keep going.

Focus on the vibration of your essence.

I can't handle this.
I have to shut down.
I have to preserve.

Go numb.
Prioritize Preservation.

my mouth is a cage.
a metal, rattling box where all the words bounce around.
but the words never escape.
because i can't find the key.
sometimes i think there is no key,
but then someone hands it to me
and some of the thoughts flow out.
and the cage shuts quickly before i say something people will have opinions on.
if people have opinions on my thoughts, people will have opinions on me.
and if that happens, i fear of falling.
falling,
down,
down,
into an abyss of everyone's opinions of me.
and soon,
in the blink of an eye,
i'll become their words.
i'll beg for their approval.
and i won't be me,
but rather,
society's refection of me.

i can still hear the plane taking off.
i can still hear the busy people rushing around the airport.
i can still hear the doors to the shuttle closing.
i can still hear the friendly receptionists at the hotel.

i can still feel the air sweeping past me while waiting for the metro.
i can still feel the wooden banisters at the library of congress.
i can still feel the cool october breeze.
i can still feel the awe of seeing the washington monument.

i can still see my smile while watching bobby flay's cooking show.
i can still see the intricate floral pattern on the hallway floor.
i can still see my smile fade when you approach me in the hallway.
i can still see your black eyes as you force your hand down my pants.

i can still smell your cologne on my pajamas.
i can still smell my chai tea latte and cake pop.
i can still smell the old air in ford's theatre.
i can still smell the mini burgers i ate that night.

i can still taste the cold concrete in the stairwell.
i can still ******* dinner coming up as you choked me.
i can still taste the salty tears dripping onto my tongue.
i can still taste the bitter mucus that i vengefully spat at you.

i hate you.

this might lead to the end of the world.
i wouldn't be surprised
if they finally did something
and the nukes both collided
and the atmosphere broke
and we all died because our oxygen was ****** out
into that
endless,
cold,
empty,
lonely,
quiet,
peaceful,
comforting,
starry...

hello nightmares.
it's almost comforting to see you again.
no matter how much pain you bring me
it feels as though you're the only thing that i know will always be there.

just when i feel i've wrestled free from the vicious grip
you come back and wrap your arms around me again.
and it's almost comforting to see you again.

i've tried to chase you away.
i've tried to fight back.

i'm done chasing.
i'm done fighting back.

take me.