Some people know what it’s like
To feel a knot in the back of your throat
To feel that knot untying, loosening a seam
To know that there’s a hole  
To try and fill that hole
To know that there’s a hole that cannot be filled
To try and fill that hole.

Some people know what it’s like
To feel that brief blissful void
To know the release into nothingness
To think without weight
Only to become heavier.

Some people know what it’s like,
To want to be like them
To wait to be like them
To try to be like them, effortlessly
To fail to be like them, painstakingly.

And some People know, they are not alone

Hanging from hooks on display,
Are chains with special charms on the ends.
Some are preserved nature,
Like the tiny mushroom surrounded by grass,
Or the dead butterfly with no legs,
And the resin heart of a purple flower.

Some are crystals,
Like the tiger’s eye pendant,
The beads of blue goldstone,
Or the pendulum of smoky quartz,
And the agate that looks like a purse.

Some are special and connected to memories,
Like the golden locket from a date,
Or the silver snowflake from an aunt,
The green Buddha,
And the gold Buddha both from my grandmother.

****.
I'm locked in again
Not paralysed but stuck.
Not sure what to do.
Each task appears barbed
Like it will pierce my heart.
I could make a piece of jewellery
Write my story
Make an animation
Or tidy up?
Any would do...
But instead I sit here
Not sure how to proceed.
It's like the other things that I woudn't do
Stop me doing any of the other things that I could do.
D-E-C-I-D-E from the latin
"Decidere"
To cut off!
To seperate!

Okay, jewellery it is,
I will check the van...

Knowing I'll be feeling hopeless and could use the direction
the distraction.
What is the use?
I need to feel like I am being significant

But I am significant

But why bother?
there is no deadline
there is no action.

i find that time runs slow in the morning
eight skips later then it's 8 pm
three nights in a row

but what is happening?
Where is my will
my willingness
to REALLY live?

Everything
is always the same
same thoughts
same drive
but a drive to nowhere but dreams on broken foundations
monotonous.

I have to push myself, I know I must.
to be able to OPEN my eyes and SEE
because all I see is fog.

I am aware?
I do not feel aware.

i am trapped in a misty humid fog, waving my arms gasping.
trying to breathe
dying to breathe
i cannot breathe.

I want to experience life in all its glories
And I would have
Or do I just think I would have?

if circumstances weren't so hilariously unfunny
Why?
why do i get the thing i have wanted most,
At the cost of another?
I don't even get a say in the decision-making,
I am merely just the puppet in this simulation
Playing out the scenes after the act.
Why?
That's because the forces of the universe have a sense of humor.

I very dislike change, and so it finds me a perfect match.
But others who wish they can leave their hometowns, have to stay stagnant until adulthood.
Where is my right to a less stressful childhood?
Why.

why am i being forced to grow up?
Being forced to mature or else i cannot keep up

being organized is the only thing that keeps me sane
It is the only thing that I have control over

One of the only things I have control over.

I am the physical manifestation of anxiety
Screaming
to be heard
to be n o t i c e d


to be mistaken for art


It was
a way of rebellion in a circumstance where i was forced to mature quick
robbed of non-persistent
non-insistent thoughts

So i hope fate is happy now.
For through the course you have run,
you have molded this puppet,
exactly how you have planned.

you can check me off your list

Wake up.

Wait a moment after you open your eyes,thinking and wanting to just go back to bed.

Realize you can’t.

Sit up and look out the window. Contemplate jumping out.

Distract yourself and tell yourself you’ll jump tomorrow.

Get dressed, wander to the bathroom thoughtlessly, and do the same mundane tasks you do every morning.

Start to smile. Who knows,maybe you’ll fool yourself.

Repeat the next day.

If you must go
empty-handed, the sacred
hymn will always follow you.

Poems had
entered into you. Enough,
you said. You were overwhelmed.

I will wear the cloak-
you had left behind to,
read your beautiful, mind.

Will not give up to find
out your lost footprints. Criminality
on its own would be erased.

Pain was universal.
Coming and going will continue.
Curtains will not come down.

I hope that when you make a list of all of your favourite things, I’m somewhere on the top of your list.