01:52 am
have you ever asked yourself like why you so lonely?*

01:53 am
or empty?

that maybe you give too much of your essence to people and never leave any of you for yourself

01:55 am
i know i do

02:05 am
and like that's maybe why i get so attached to humans

because in them,
i find myself

02:07 am
i need to change, because things shouldn't be this way

02:10 am
but it's hard sometimes you know, when most days you don't leave the house because you feel unworthy of the space you take up

02:16 am
so you'd much rather disintegrate into soil because you've become all too familiar with people stepping over you and admiring the outcome of your beauty but never the roots of your pain

02:19 am
i spend so much effort watering people in order for them to grow and hardly get enough sun shine to feed my own soul

02:25 am*
because i don't know how to do anything else but care for everyone but myself

I SLAMMED THE DOOR SO HARD, THAT IT COULD HAVE FALLEN OFF IT'S HINGES,
THE SAME WAY I COLLAPSE TO MY KNEES SOMETIMES.
I SLAMMED IT WITH THE KIND OF FORCE THAT IT  TAKES ME TO LOVE, AND GOD KNOWS I LOVE WITH THE POWER OF EARTHQUAKES AND TORNADOS COMBINED.

NO WAIT, BUT BUT, WHERE ARE YOU MOVING TO?*

WELL SEE, I AM GOING TO LIVE IN THE MOMENT.
-
**ARE YOU COMING?

because when she was young,

people would ask her

"what superpower,

do you wish for?"

so without any hesitation

she replied "invisibility."

and then,

and then she grew up realising

it came true.

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU HOW SCARED SHE IS. WHAT IF I TOLD YOU HOW SHE WATCHES THE WAY SHE WALKS, BECAUSE THE LAST TIME SHE FELL IN LOVE, SHE HIT THE GROUND. AND SHE WOULD OFFER HIM HER HEART BUT IT'S BEEN EATEN AT AND STORED IN A DOGGY BAG AROUND A CORNER WITHIN HER CHEST - AND SHE CANNOT HELP BUT ALWAYS FEEL LEFTOVER. WHAT IF I TOLD YOU THAT SHE'S SCARED OF FEELING.
BECAUSE IT DOESN'T FEEL HER BACK.

"911 what's your emergency?"

"SHE'S DEAD! SHE'S DEAD! I CAN SEE IT IN HER EYES. HER HEART BROKE AND I EVEN CUT MY FOOT ON THE SHARDS."

"I'm going to need you to slow down ma'm. Now tell me, who is it that's dead?"*

"ME!"

(hangs up the phone)

*"Ma'm. Ma'm, is anybody there?"

SWEETHEART,

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE CURE.

AND

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE DISEASE.

THE WAY IN WHICH INSECURITY MAKES A HOME OF MY BODY,
LEAVING HER PILES OF SELF-DOUBT AND ANXIETY LYING ON THE FLOOR.
AS I CONTINUE TO STUMBLE AWAY FROM MIRRORS,
TRYING TO FIND A REFLECTION SHE HAS NOT BECOME A PART OF,
SHE REVEALS TO ME,
THAT THE MIRROR DOES NOT HAVE TO BE CRACKED IN ORDER FOR ME TO LOOK BROKEN.
I ASK HER WHY SHE HAS NOT MOVED OUT ALREADY,
AND SHE SAYS IT IS NOT HER FAULT THAT I ALWAYS LEAVE THE DOORS OPEN.
I TELL HER OF HOW I MISPLACED THE KEYS IN THE HANDS OF PEOPLE WHO COULD NOT LOVE ALL THAT I AM.
AND WITHOUT HESITATION,
SHE ASKS ME WHY I HAVE NOT YET CHANGED THE LOCKS.

COME ON.
LET THE WRITERS BREAK THEIR WRISTS AND BLEED THEIR FINGERS DRY OVER SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T GIVE A **** ABOUT THEM

when last have i had a 3am kind of conversation,
with my star like emotions scattered all over the darkest parts of me,
mimicking the sky,
my moon like persona that always returns back to hiding me away.  
when last have i felt safe enough to let somebody in,
to not have visions of my vulnerability being tied to the bed after he locks the door behind him,
his voice like some sort of broken record that keeps on repeating that
"it's gonna be okay."
when last have i had a shoulder to cry on that isn't my own,
for my neck to stop worrying that the tear filled sea on either side won't get waves big enough to drown me.  
when last okay,
when last has it felt good to be me.

What I am trying to say is,
I am well aware that it matters not whether I am with or without you;
I will keep moving,
but I much prefer your limbs with my limbs,
and I enjoy the tragedy you think makes you unable to be loved,
and I'm sorry I didn't touch you a little bit longer,
and when you're here I feel it,
and when you're not I feel it too.

by : Alexandra Crawford

And I should have joined a masquerade.
Believe me.
I wore masks all the time.

And though I may not mention it,
I need you to remain and sit in place within my life.
I'm home, I don't mind a few renovations but you can't move out.
Change the furniture, change the setting, change the colours of this love, but don't pack up.
Don't relocate, because I can't leave with you, hence I live with you.
Continue to settle, continue to speak your plans to my walls, we'll breathe life into them.
And may the building of this love never feel the clocks run forward.

by Dvniel Jones

why, what's wrong?*

sometimes everything, sometimes nothing, sometimes i don't even know.  

depression shows up uninvited and makes a home in my chest.

I’m curious about your experience of time. Do you feel like life is moving really quickly? Is your music one way to sort of turn it over and reflect on it?

WILLOW SMITH: I mean, time for me, I can make it go slow or fast, however I please, and that’s how I know it doesn’t exist.

JADEN SMITH: It’s proven that how time moves for you depends on where you are in the universe. It’s relative to beings and other places. But on the level of being here on earth, if you are aware in a moment, one second can last a year. And if you are unaware, your whole childhood, your whole life can pass by in six seconds. But it’s also such a thing that you can get lost in.

How have you gotten better?

WILLOW SMITH: Caring less what everybody else thinks, but also caring less and less about what your own mind thinks, because what your own mind thinks, sometimes, is the thing that makes you sad.

JADEN SMITH: Exactly. Because your mind has a duality to it. So when one thought goes into your mind, it’s not just one thought, it has to bounce off both hemispheres of the brain. When you’re thinking about something happy, you’re thinking about something sad. When you think about an apple, you also think about the opposite of an apple. It’s a tool for understanding mathematics and things with two separate realities. But for creativity: That comes from a place of oneness. That’s not a duality consciousness. And you can’t listen to your mind in those times — it’ll tell you what you think and also what other people think.

WILLOW SMITH: And then you think about what you think, which is very dangerous.

Do you think of your new music as a continuation of your past work?

JADEN SMITH: That’s another thing: What’s your job, what’s your career? Nah, I am. I’m going to imprint myself on everything in this world.

What are the things worth having?

WILLOW SMITH: A canvas. Paint. A microphone.

JADEN SMITH: Anything that you can shock somebody with. The only way to change something is to shock it. If you want your muscles to grow, you have to shock them. If you want society to change, you have to shock them.

WILLOW SMITH: That’s what art is, shocking people. Sometimes shocking yourself.

So is the hardest education the unlearning of things?*

WILLOW SMITH: Yes, basically, but the crazy thing is it doesn’t have to be like that.

JADEN SMITH: Here’s the deal: School is not authentic because it ends. It’s not true, it’s not real. Our learning will never end. The school that we go to every single morning, we will continue to go to.

WILLOW SMITH: Forever, ‘til the day that we’re in our bed.

JADEN SMITH: Kids who go to normal school are so teenagery, so angsty.

WILLOW SMITH: They never want to do anything, they’re so tired.

WILLOW SMITH: I went to school for one year. It was the best experience but the worst experience. The best experience because I was, like, “Oh, now I know why kids are so depressed.” But it was the worst experience because I was depressed.

this is not a poem
          
          

                       *just a mere

image
consisting of

                                         straight lines
and curves

pain killer after pain killer.

oh baby girl, you know better than that.

pain killer after pain killer.

*oh baby girl, you know the sadness never dies out.

He said he'd rob a bank for me.

What?

No!

Then he gets caught. Like a fish on a hook, and where does that leave me?
Talking to him through a pitch black telephone, on the other side of a glass window, on some old wooden chair.
Seeing him dressed in orange uniform and a guard behind his back, like loving him was some sort of crime in itself, and then before you know it, times up.
A mere few minutes, for him to see how much I loved him, and it'd break my heart, like how a glass lands harshly on tile floors, it'd break me every time.
To think he'd have to get locked up behind metal poles, every night, when my arms would have done enough cuffing.

I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

and i guess i'm just asking,
if all the things you said to yourself, appeared on your body,
would you still be beautiful?

TELL THEM HOW CLOSELY YOU WOULD WATCH YOUR BATTERY DIE, TELL THEM HOW YOUR HEART WORKS THE SAME WAY, TELL THEM YOU ARE SO TIRED OF BEING USED, TELL THEM YOU ARE DEAD.

i did the best i could,
for who i was,
at the time.

3 AM type of girl expecting something more from a boy who barely makes it past midnight.

I KEEP TELLING YOU EXPECTATIONS ARE THE DEVIL, AND DISAPPOINTMENT WILL BURN WITH FIRE AT YOUR CHEST, DARLING.

"just go to bed because i'm basically talking to myself" she says.

*YOU SO TIRED OF PEOPLE BEING THERE, BUT NOT REALLY BEING THERE, SO YOU HANG UP, OKAY.