She looked at him like he was the moon. Fascinated as she stayed up late, focused on his cloudiness which she described as her spectrum. All dreary and grey, dark and sunless. Countless people watched with her in the way he danced with the stars, the way he flaunted his brightest dim. But she kept on wondering if they even searched underneath the clouds when he wasn't around; had they worried if he seemed to be missing a part. Because she liked his company more than all the stars combined, even when he left her the morning she was supposed to arise.

Scribbles-
These words,
These words,
These lines-
They're my scribbles:
But as far as scribbles-
These scribbles-
It just goes to show,
Not all the mad are inside: You know?

So you slide,
I slide,
We slide...

Oh, troubled soul!

And yet how I know,
I cannot disappoint those- Yes? / No?

No! No! No!
For I must remember
Like in Bedlam of old,
How they, the mad-
Were forced to wear ghost clothes...

And so like a carnival ride:

The whole world,
It slowly begins to slide...

It slides! It slides! It slides!

Proving as I've already said,
Not all the mad are only inside:

And that's not even counting
The ones that are dead...

Oh, no, no, no, no:

But-
These lines,
These lines,
These words-
Are scribbles:

My scribbles-

These scribbles-

My scribbles-

These scribbles-

Scribbles.

Scribbles.

Scribbles.

I've come so far.

3 years ago I had everything.
I was becoming everything.
Right with him by my side.

2 years ago I thought I did.
But I acquired pain & loneliness.
With him by my side, becoming my undoing.

1 year ago I started over with nothing.
I'm ambidextrous.
I've re-invented myself--it took time.

My healed heart chose not to sacrifice my self-worth for just anyone.

After healing came acceptance.
Acceptance that I stutter, constantly at a loss over words & phrases that used to come so easy.

Those three little words used to leave my mouth faster than uncontrolled laughter.

I once thought myself ambidextrous.
But it turns out I am not.
My emotions are like frayed nerves, afferent only, no expression.

Regret is soon to follow--whether from facing rejection or holding it in I don't know.

You scare me.
And the fact that you might not be "just anyone."
And the fact that I might be "just anyone" to you?
Scares me.

Turns out I've found quite the worthy opponent in dancing around the subject...

There is an entire universe
inside her head. And I'll be
kidding myself if I say I am
beginning to understand her,
when all I've ever done is just
catch a glimpse of the galaxies
within, through her eyes.

Now, despite having nebular
thoughts, what I know is that
I will neither fully grasp what's
going on in there nor will I ever
fathom the simplicity and
complexity of her soul.

But that's okay.
I'll love her, anyway.

Small moments
Of grief break
The happiness
I had to beg myself
To feel

Depression isn't a pretty girl with a flawless face crying
Depression isn't a bad day
Depression isn't grief from a loss of a loved one
Depression isn't a thing
Depression is the loss of something
Depression is the loss of happiness
Depression is where you lose yourself
and try to find yourself within your skin.

.
.
*“found you”
someone once told me
“did you, did you??”


you’ll find me
between pages of a book
disguised in poetry
good or bad i maybe

you’ll find me
read between the lines
of your favorite songs
happy or sad i maybe

you’ll find me
in gardens, orchards
a nurtured flower
or just an ugly **** maybe

you’ll find me
look at the sky
i’ll be dancing among the objects
a dead star or the sun i maybe

you’ll find me,
traces of me
you’ll know it

i know, i know
you’ll find me,
wherever i’ll be
whatever i am

i know, i know
somewhere in this world
in the perfect time
i know, i know that
someday you will find

because every time I feel sad,
my mind tells me that it's bad,
to have feelings of feelings suppressed,
there's no difference from the undead.

of course, yes I know,
there's no cure in just one go,
but my heart - even tied with a rope,
there's a glimmer of hope