Take me where the sun shines so bright
The shadows are gone
But the light doesn't burn
Take me where the breeze is speckled with laughter
But not one chuckle is pretence
Take me where I can run without being chased,
Fly without falling
And sing without crying.
Take me.
Please.
It's Grey here.

it's a mess this world
the deafening sound of sirens and screams
fall from the tv
while the tears fall from your cheeks

another loud crack followed by screams
its happened again
a man with a gun
another distressing tragedy

all too soon
the most innocent people take their last breath
to a man with a gun
surrounded by large, dark crimson pools

you quickly change the channel with a click
as you hear the squeaky floorboards
it's your little one running in
saying she's ready to go to sleep

she asks you to check for monsters
in the closet
under the bed
but what a misfortune to have to explain

you won't find them in the closet or under the bed
you'll find them on the streets
because monsters are real
they just live in our heads.

You know, the better I get overall the worse my relationship with sleep gets.

I keep on trying. I know its healthier. I know its good for me. But no matter how hard I try, its so easy to forget. So easy to just keep going.

I'm not good at stopping. I don't like to stop.

I'm like a telegram with run-on sentences. Sometimes, innovative and brilliant. other times, incomprehensible.

I'm on the precipice of so much excitement and joy that, per usual, sleep takes a back seat. I'm bad at not letting it take a back seat. Its just so good at taking the back seat.

To be honest, I'm better with sleep with him around. And its less because he's some magic cure-all, and more he makes me calmer and I can't stay on my phone haphazardly or turn on the lights and write with another person in the bed.

More to be honest, this has less of a point and more a myriad of ramblings in hope to get myself sleepy and able to fall asleep. Because despite my rebellious mindset, I do wish to sleep eventually.

I even tried waking up early yesterday. Didn't work.

I dunno what to do. I'm pretty bad at this. If my insides aren't screaming I tend to question it less. But, perhaps, as an adult, I should question it a little more.

Maybe sleep's just heading in my bedhead.

Hearing the toaster pop up and realizing you've been spinning in circles the whole time, with no recollection of the time passing,
Saying "f*ck" while you do the dishes or vacuum because apparently that's a trigger for you,
And don't you dare think about time because you'll spend all of it flailing your arms and hyperventilating,
Hoping you're not annoying when you click your tongue over and over,
And feeling the tickle in your arms hoping they won't judge you for twisting your hand three times,
What the hell do I have? Is it OCD, ADD, or is it turrets?
A mixture of all maybe? I don't know but I need some rest.

Spent days trying to grow my brain
And shrink my waist.

More often than not I wake up in the morning wishing that I could shed this body like a second skin. If only it were that easy. As if I wear my shame like a jacket that I can unzip and toss over my chair when I get home. As if it were not a seed whose roots have grown deep in my skin, and crept their way into my veins. She touches me so gently, in every place I’ve been ashamed to claim as my own. And as she kisses my neck and reaches for my thigh, all I can seem to think of is how long it will take for her fingers to recoil. I wonder when she will realize that her hands don’t like the bumpy texture of my flesh. That my skin doesn’t hug my bones quite like it should. That I’ve got curves in all the wrong places. I wonder how long it will take for her to see me the way that I see myself. I know that I’m sick. It’s a disease without a cure. No matter how much you refuse to eat, it will always eat away at you. There is no running from this. You must lie down. And as she kisses your neck and reaches for your thigh, pull her closer. Let her know you trust her. Let her trace your bumpy flesh like hills and valleys, let her wander. She touches me so gently, in every place I’ve ben ashamed to claim as my own. And as she kisses my neck and reaches for my thigh, I let her.  Because this is how we learn to love ourselves. This is how we heal.