The yellow, early evening sun feels heavy and warm on my legs.
Like a cat curled up to enjoy a small nap,
It rests on my pink and rainbow blanket.
My mother snores in the old blue chair next to me,
******* in worry and exhaustion and the scent of basil,
Oblivious to the small-town sounds of birds and cars and children playing,
Unaware that her daughter is something she claims to not understand.

"Pansexuality, honestly, just sounds
Horrible,"
She had told me.
"I don't understand pansexuality and gender-fluid and stuff,"
She said,
The car sliding smoothly over the highway under grey skies.
I tried to explain, but I was swamped in
Confusion.
"Well...there are more than two genders, like being gender-fluid and agendered and bi-gendered and third-gendered......
And pansexual people like all of those genders."
"That's what I can't understand. I mean, I kinda get the concept, but..." Her voice trails away like blue cigarette smoke, still deadly even after it has dissipated into the clouds.
I feel like I'm choking on it, raw pink lungs tightening and swelling, forcing yellow stars before my eyes,
Not able to explain the way
I don't care what you identify as,
I only care about love.
My mother's grandmother didn't know that non-straight people existed.
My mother's mother didn't know that bisexual people existed.
My mother doesn't believe that more than two genders exist,
Or know that I find all of them attractive.
But she had already dropped the subject,
Instead filling the awkward lull with discussions of
Colleges and books she's reading and and what my younger sister is doing in school.
I could feel my soul bubbling up behind my lips,
Pink and yellow and blue,
I wanted to tell her to stop and listen.
I wanted to tell her to be quiet,
And to be accepting,
And to try to understand.
I wanted to tell her
'I'm pansexual.
There.
Now you know.
Would you have said that it was horrible and that you can't understand?
That, in essence, I am horrible and you can't understand me?'
But I didn't.
I sat, the warm sticky grey leather under my thighs
The same as the warm, sticky grey clouds,
The yellow sun just peeking out into blue skies beyond the pale pink dogwoods.

She wakes up, warm sticky breath catching in her chest
As she opens her eyes.
She mumbles quietly about oversleeping
Before she rushes out the door,
Leaving behind a daughter
She thinks she knows,
As she claims to not understand
My label
That I have hidden inside my closet door,
Next to my pink, yellow, blue scarves.
Maybe tomorrow I'll put it on,
Pin my heart to my sleeve,
Wear my colors proudly.
But not today.  
Never today.

I want to be a daily dragon soaring in the sky, but i'm just a night owl hiding in the trees.


(wrote this when i barely ate and was in bed all day.mood has changed since i ate and got out of bed for a little while.)


I like my eggs to have a scramble and this just may be another rambunctious ramble but I need to have a shout out to the big D, my deep repression, also known as Depression.
Strictly glued to my bed, lying here with the sheets perched upon my chest, head propped up against two flaccid pillows, full bladder, the pressure, need to release but can't bring myself in an upward position. Munching on my homemade granola&pretzel; trail-mix, having absolutely no desire, nor energy to feed my insides, to bring fresh water to touch my lips, to nourish my body, mind, and spirit.
Staring at my furry feline, his eyes closed, tummy up in full view for a rubbing, four legs extended in every direction, so-so innocent.
Life is just too **** awfully precious to be drowning in this dark, deep, and dull dirt hole, right? Do you agree? Don't agree because I drastically disagree and don't have the energy to beg to differ.
Life is too good, life is mtoo short, yada...yada...yada.. that is what 'they' all say. Well, most of 'them' say that. I say 'them' in half quotations because by 'them', I mean.... the ones that were instantly born with or found the Huge H.
Y'know, Happiness.
No motivation to do life's less complicated things,
No words to speak, mind blank and still.
Hardly any breath to let out, the brain fog-memory loss.
The hopelessness, the fatigue, the deep repression.
This is a tough state, you struggle and don't know why you're suddenly incapable of doing things you want to do, enjoying things you want to enjoy, you feel like you've lost yourself, you don't know what you want anymore, crisis.
Don't want anyone's help, don't want anyone's sympathy, don't want anything. N O T H I N G.
Feeling paralyzed, crippled, but you feel terrible and guilty even trying to compare yourself to the handicapped. How could you do such a thing? That is just simply how you feel that you feel.
Others will gawk at you and give you advice, which mostly makes matters much worse...
When inside, you're subconsciously and slightly consciously aware that you've been fighting this battle for years on end.... since you slipped out of your mothers womb and took your first breath of this polluted air.
You instantly found ways to cope, ways to protect yourself, smiles to hide away the tears, the pain, the numbness,
Hiding the painful pity, dissociation to hide the mind and all the other types of abuse. your learning disability, your inability to focus, to stay on task, to finish a task, to complete, to have drive, to succeed,
The lack of love, lack of attention, of family, of a mother, of a father, of teachers, your lack of support, guidance, your loneliness, your negative self image, your childhood abandonment, the scars, the lies, the promiscuity, the mood swings, the suicidal thoughts, the confusion, turmoil. So much more, so much baggage, so much past...
                    LEAVE THE PAST IN THE PAST.... it's just that simple!
Memories and flashbacks flooding your mind leaves you debilitated.
All of those awesome e-mails you receive, the people who want to be a part of your life who you push away and won't let in, the barrier - the wall.
The beauty you were born with, your 5 senses and health, these things do not matter in this deep repression. Nothing matters as nothing is what you confide it, it is your comfort, it is your company.



"This is what you have, you have it all, you're beautiful, you're this, you're that.." so 'they' say, but little do 'they' know.. 'they' will say they have been there before, they will say they understand, but do they really?


Medication will Mask the Mundane.


Oh, it's so unbelievable how much the outer appearance can really show.
The book's front cover.
The stories that lie inside each and every page are so much deeper that what you may perceive by observing the Title (Gina) and the design or picture, the nice face and the nice ****&***.;


Ingested so many supplements, vitamins, herbs, teas, water, exercising consistently and constantly, staying fit, so fresh and so clean, so well kept, being somewhat calm, cool, and collected...when underneath it all was a ball of blues, a mess of stress, a dungeon of self-destruction, a child reaching out, a pretty polite pessimist princess.


Oversleeping, malnourishment, Pre-Menstrual Symptoms, ADHD are the leading cause to my ranting today. Unable to fully explain and go into more depth about what all of the above means, I close my eyes and will try and muster up enough strength to organize and get back to this blog post when I awaken.


Getting a physical check-up along with blood work soon to see if there is an underlying cause to my fatigue lately....


All I can do is.... lay here, mindless, and...
w
a
i
t
.

Lisa and I were watching one of our favorite series last night, a Japanese manga called “The Way of the Househusband” and I could barely keep my eyes open. I went to bed at a decent hour (11:30) but when I got in bed, I couldn’t sleep, I just laid there. It was rude and caused me to oversleep.

I don’t mean to brag, but I can go from oversleeping, to bushed and showered in less than 15 minutes, I’m really a marvel of efficiency (with still wet hair), especially since we wear scrubs.
I grabbed my iPad, stuffed it in my rucksack, and hey, I was ready to go.

In the living room, it took me a moment to situate myself - it was a very noisy and disorienting environment - what with Lisa yelling at me for running late, but soon we were off.

Just a girl, her lemon ginger Kombucha, and her angry roommate, ready to face the world.

We stepped out into the morning and.. Ughh! I’d forgotten my AirPods. I double checked, not there.
Lisa gives me a threatening look. “PLEASE,” I begged, desperately, “MY AIRPODS!”
“OH, my GOD!” Lisa said, glancing, irritatedly at the Apple Watch I gave her for her birthday.

I ran up the stairs and was back in NO time, really, really ready to go.
Just a girl, her Kombucha, AirPods and angrier roommate, ready to face the world.

My sister’s apartment is about 7 walking minutes from the hospital. As we were walking, I had my AirPods in and was rolling with Kanye. I in NO way endorse his CrAzY. But If I start the day out, with “Through the Wire” and “Jesus walks,” I’m tweaked for whatever gamut Rebecca (my surgeon) has in store for me. I paused the slaps, momentarily, as we passed a herd of boys, but I was bouncing again in a blink.

Lisa and I are in the second week of our two-month, summer fellowships - shadowing surgeons (different surgeons) for “clinical experience.” The first thing I do every workday morning is bring Rebecca a large coffee (from the cafeteria). She comes in at 5:30am every morning of the week and leaves God-knows-when - certainly, well after we do at 4:30pm.

She spends the three hours before I come in, reviewing patient notes and surgical plans. I gently rapped on her open door. She doesn’t look up, but she knows it’s me.
“Good morning,” I whisper, Rebecca’s seated at her desk, working on her laptop. I set the coffee on her right side and after I remove the pre-existing empty cups, I hesitate.

“What’s up,” she says, leaning into her screen to check something as she keys to enlarge it.
“I have a small question,” I say, “Are we supposed to be filling out timecards?” She doesn’t say anything, continuing to examine the - whatever. After a few seconds, I added:
“Quinn said we have to fill out timecards.”

“Did he?” Rebacca asked, rhetorically, after a bit. She’d stopped studying the screen and gotten a faraway look. Then, after another moment, she said, “Well, bless his heart,” which made me chuckle, because we’re both southern girls and that’s shorthand for “f**k him.”

“Thank you.” she says (for the coffee). I’d been dismissed.
We have rounds in twenty minutes.

Starbuck napkins and depressing one liners and my hands are shaking and my nerves are on edge and it feels like Thursday is never going to get here and I can't sleep until I find myself oversleeping and it's two hours past the time I had somewhere to be and another day has slipped past before I could take a breath and find any kind of calm and it's  a day closer to Thursday but Thursday still feels like it's never going to get here and my coffee has gone cold and my hands are busy shaking out depressing one liners on a pile of Starbucks napkins...

Oversleeping in the morning
Talk about False Alarm

loving you was kind of like oversleeping.
quiet and so, so loud
when i opened up my eyes.
i spend all my time running late,
shaking the daydreams out of my head.
something about you
reminded me of all times i just wanted to sleep the year away,
wake up next september and have everything be okay,
and how glad i was i stayed awake for july,
a few months past my bedtime.
it’s the line running on repeat in the cracks of my brain,
there’s a symphony in here playing, it’ll never be the same.
looks like the conductor called in sick,
so it’s like some ill-conceived medley
of tchaikovsky and biggie
and if you don’t know now you know
to the backing music to the nutcracker.
every book i’ve read and every movie i’ve ever fell asleep to
are so tangled up that i can’t make out the lines
i actually wrote underneath them.
what i’m trying to say is that it’s all cymbal crashes in here
and i’ve run out of metaphors, i fear  
that i can’t seem to say anything at all right now,
i am writer’s block at 3 o’clock
and the afternoon has no right to feel 2 AM like this.
i used to think loneliness only happened
when it was the middle of night and i was wondering why
i couldn’t seem to take up all the space in a twin bed on my own,
or when i was in the middle of crowd
and i kept catching myself searching for someone who just... isn’t there.
and this poem has been in process
in the back of my head for a long time,
for about as long as i’ve known you.
i keep adding lines and crossing them back out,  
i keep opening my mouth and sewing it back shut.
you see, it’s very… crowded in my head,
often i feel like i’m exceeding capacity.
like a thousand word per minute,
like a thousand poems and i could never finish it,
i guess that’s is why i “write like i’m running out of time”
i guess that’s why when i perform i speak so fast
my words get caught and my tongue gets tangled,
i’m stuck looking for new angles,
i haven’t met a cliche i haven’t mangled --
what i’m trying to say is
that there’s a lot of ******* going on in here
and you make it all go…
quiet.
and don’t get me wrong,
i love myself, in the way you’ve got to love yourself
when you don’t really always like yourself.
but still, i spend a lot time wishing i had a better handle on myself.
wishing i could press pause
just to give me enough time unscramble myself,
wishing that i was less;
less difficult, less rough, less soft, less messy.
because sometimes i feel so ******' chaotic
and you...
you make everything stop for just a second.
you make everything about me feel okay.
and now, i don’t know about god
but i believe in love and i believe in poetry.
now, i’m not much for destiny
but i believe in the way you sometimes look at me.
to put it simply, you make me want to write poems
about weezer and way you smile.
simple stuff. good stuff.
and i like you because you never pretended
that you were too cool to know the words,
our lips moving just the same.
because we are stumbling, tumbling through life
and i want to spend mine with people
who aren’t so ******* scared of admitting that.
because i measure my heartbeat in drumbeats,
in what’s pouring through my headphones,
and the fact that you get that makes me feel so much less alone.
all the chords/cords tangled like our hearts on the floor,
i’m not going to write you love song, baby,
i’m going to write you an anthem.
because you and i, we we're composed to same notes.
and i could find a lot of ways to phrase this --
we’re made of the same stuff, stardust, kindred spirits
or something like that;
because i’m so good at words,
but my words aren’t near good enough to find a way to say
that you are the space between silence and noise,
where my heart goes to rest.

evening talks
into morning
walks home
stronger alone

his bones are the needles
that ***** ink into my skin
I can't begin to fathom
the nerve stinging print
that sends me ringing
in my collar bones,
which ache from oversleeping,
can't see anyone today
I'm too busy dreaming.

What if I went out every night
& kept my phone on silent
so that every time you called
it would keep ringing & ringing
until my annoying voicemail
flooded your ears over & over
about three dozen times or more

Call again

What if I said I had too much going on
& that my grandparents or father
needed my assistance for something
far more important than wasting
any of my time on you or your family
even though plans were nonexistent

Try again

What if I was late to school almost
two times a week because I knew
I could get away with sneaking to
her house while you woke your
mom up so that she could take you
to school because I was "oversleeping"

Late again

What if I held your hand everyday
down the hallways of this hell hole
& kissed you goodbye before each
& every bell, but found my seat
next to her in the back of the room
where no one would suspect a thing

Goodbye again

What if you started to notice that
I was slowly starting to fade away
& thought I was talking with her
& I yelled at you for accusing me
& thinking I was untrustworthy
& maybe I forgot the real truth myself

Yell again

What if I got caught in her bed
one early morning by her father
& he called & told my mother
& she threatened to kick me out
if I didn't tell you so I lied again
& promised that I had told you,
but I wasn't telling you anything

Lie again

What if someone else told you
& I ran out of lies to tell you,
but I still continued with my streak
& tried lying my way out of losing you,
but you were done with my *******

Done again

What if she wasn't my only lover on the side
What if I had lost count of all of them
What if I promised to change
What if

*You can't

by his friends
my uncle was known
as uncle
****
because he curled the word
as if his mouth
came before it
and waited.

he took me to a meeting once
because he wanted me to have
real coffee.

he winked as if to say
I know a paper cup
when I hold
a paper
cup.

he said as if to say
*******
it’s not like you’re watching
someone else
live your life
it’s like you’re someone else
not helping.

uncle **** didn’t believe in oversleeping.  
he believed in making a blindfold
for the blind.

I was at my best
letting him think
he gave me
my first
cigarette.

everything you’ve heard was read by me.