It is 5 minutes until 1:00 am, and I know my head will keep me up to 3.
my mind overwhelms itself.
and hates me for doing nothing about it.
It is now 1 and the same thoughts I had 5 minutes ago.
are now shown falling from my eyes, down my cheeks.
I am truly my worst enemy.
everyone talks about the healing process but not the dread.
that clanks around your ankles after.
I was a broken vase, not filled with roses or tulips.
Not loaded with water.
The pieces of glass, pieces of me I placed together.
(you can still see my cracks)
I am now an empty vase, and no one will grant me the presence of flowers.
It is now 11 minutes into 1 and happiness only pervaded-
when I went out with friends.
Is happiness just laughter and creating memories?
I guess I'll never know.
It is now 1:15
and I'm still not ok with anything I write.
I am still not ok with myself, at least I don't hate who she is anymore.
I am still not ok with how I love, how I express affection.
I am still not okay with how my mother treated me.
I'm not fine with anything at all.
No matter how many times I splatter my mind on these pages.
I won't feel okay.
I waited 16 years to finally feel something new, and at least I got what I wanted.
but this state of feeling and containing nothing is still familiar.
It is 1:30
My mind is now vacant but only because I have occupied myself with creating.
Still disappointed with each piece I make.
It is the only outlet I have to escape from my experiences unless there’s a blunt
in my hand.
I do not wish for peace anymore, just a hand to hold and maybe a new lighter.
It has been 50 minutes, and I am still writing.
Still wishing to ring myself out like a drenched rag.
and to watch my thoughts, attempts, things I did, said, could have, wouldn't-
circle into a big puddle that dries away.
I know it is not that easy.
but to believe my placing here was not a mistake is hard.
7 minutes until 2
I feel slightly better, but the kind of better that will allow me to rest.
It is now 2:00, and I'm 358 words in, this poem will never be let out, and I am still here-
disconnected from myself and ambivalence fills the space in-between.
Dec 11, 2024
Dec 11, 2024 at 12:04 PM UTC
It is 5 minutes until 1:00 am, and I know my head will keep me up to 3.
my mind overwhelms itself.
and hates me for doing nothing about it.
It is now 1 and the same thoughts I had 5 minutes ago.
are now shown falling from my eyes, down my cheeks.
I am truly my worst enemy.
everyone talks about the healing process but not the dread.
that clanks around your ankles after.
I was a broken vase, not filled with roses or tulips.
Not loaded with water.
The pieces of glass, pieces of me I placed together.
(you can still see my cracks)
I am now an empty vase, and no one will grant me the presence of flowers.
It is now 11 minutes into 1 and happiness only pervaded-
when I went out with friends.
Is happiness just laughter and creating memories?
I guess I'll never know.
It is now 1:15
and I'm still not ok with anything I write.
I am still not ok with myself, at least I don't hate who she is anymore.
I am still not ok with how I love, how I express affection.
I am still not okay with how my mother treated me.
I'm not fine with anything at all.
No matter how many times I splatter my mind on these pages.
I won't feel okay.
I waited 16 years to finally feel something new, and at least I got what I wanted.
but this state of feeling and containing nothing is still familiar.
It is 1:30
My mind is now vacant but only because I have occupied myself with creating.
Still disappointed with each piece I make.
It is the only outlet I have to escape from my experiences unless there’s a blunt
in my hand.
I do not wish for peace anymore, just a hand to hold and maybe a new lighter.
It has been 50 minutes, and I am still writing.
Still wishing to ring myself out like a drenched rag.
and to watch my thoughts, attempts, things I did, said, could have, wouldn't-
circle into a big puddle that dries away.
I know it is not that easy.
but to believe my placing here was not a mistake is hard.
7 minutes until 2
I feel slightly better, but the kind of better that will allow me to rest.
It is now 2:00, and I'm 358 words in, this poem will never be let out, and I am still here-
disconnected from myself and ambivalence fills the space in-between.
i hope someone out there feels each word within this poem and forgive yourself now if you do relate <3
