when i wake
i battle with thoughts that
cloud my eyes
dewy from tears
i am utterly and totally
drenched in sadness

when i rise
i do what i can to
make a cup of coffee
let the dogs out
brush my teeth
and go to work

(clockwork)

life cycles through waves
of feeling this way and that
never quite being able to grasp
on to a specific emotion
to describe how i am feeling
like how i can wake this way
and lay my head down to sleep
feeling something close to hopeful
ready to rise again
and the thoughts no longer exist in the morning

i find myself very odd
but people don't get to hear
this side of me
mostly because they don't ask
but i don't mind

(clockwork)

i have seen terrible days
i have seen days filled with miracles
i have seen days that are bleaker than bland
but i would prefer to have the days of
feeling something than nothing at all
so i push forward
take my medication
go to my therapist
and go to church

sometimes i wonder if God knows
the inner workings of my thoughts
as well as the Devil
a baptism could never submerge
my thoughts
yet i sing on praising Him

what i do know
is whether i am up
or i am down
i am here

(clockwork)

I sit in bed, wondering
how life is quite bittersweet.
Yet we always keep wanting
to live a little longer,
despite of it all.

I sit in bed, thinking
how in every millisecond
we decide to still take
a deep breath,
despite of it all

I sit in bed, contemplating
why we have this desire
to live, to exist, to experience,
despite of it all.

I sit in bed, writing
on my laptop
haphazardly positioned
between two pillows,
legs crossed,
that i still decide
to let the words flow.

I look far beyond the distance of my room,
contemplating, then realizing,
how life should not be always perfect,
(just like this poem)
but I am still here, typing,
for the hope of it all.

I've always been soothed
By the sound of the sea
You both arrived with waves of pain
And crashing of water
Perhaps that's why I'm soothed
By the two of you

The steady blink of a lighthouse
Anchored to the bed
Until you had to come out
A knife to the sand dune of my belly
I couldn't feel my legs
But I could feel you

A tiny hand, a star fish over my heart
Holding on as we were cast adrift
To navigate unchartered waters
Sometimes it felt like we were going under
But you were always there on my chest
The swell of the waves
Up, down, up, down

It seems a life time ago
Those stormy nights, milk drunk, lost
We've built castles, moats and skimmed stones
I have always been soothed by the sound of the sea
And I hope that the two of you
Will always be soothed
By me

I don’t think they heard me
When I said I’m not okay
No one moved to comfort me
Or light my birthday cake

I don’t think they heard me
When I said “I’m feeling blue”
I was told to “ just cheer up”
“It’s completely up to you”

I don’t think they heard me
My tear-filled wails of pain
Cuz they were soon cut short
By the angry sound
Of my first and middle name

I don’t think they saw me
When i began to disappear
I don’t think they really cared
They said
“Shes never, ever here”

I don’t think they saw me
My withered, cracking shell
“She never eats or sleeps or drinks,
Shes putting us through hell.”

I don’t think they saw me
Standing right before their face
They told me“we’re sick of the lies and
all your tears are fake”

I met a woman in the psych ward and something felt like that should have been me.
She had gauze wrapped around her wrist like I had felt so many times before, but these wounds had kept her here.
I had been sent home.
I never needed stitches, but I couldn't have a needle,
so I was always left with the common thread of being sent home.
I was never taken seriously until one day I was,
but I'd forgotten how to take it any way at all.
The woman in the ward would wander the halls,
hauling her hidden distress in the dressing.
I wondered if she'd also been told 'it wasn't that bad,'
but if she was, she might have been home by now.
Something keeps asking why she hadn't been me.
I was so confused about where they said I should be and didn't know how to prove if I knew where that was.
Dismissed from all urgency by nurses with certainty, but implored by all others who glanced at my wrist;
each party so confident I'd be in hands that were better as long as those hands weren't theirs.
I was scrubbed from this place of belonging while being too stable for the people in scrubs.
Maybe that's why I stay as close as I can to the psych ward while still holding the key card to leave:
I had lingered in limbo too long to know which direction to go. What do I believe? Which loss do I grieve?
I had proved myself too healthy; I had proved myself too sick.
I was a revolving door patient who never got admitted.

silent and reserved
a learnt behaviour

to speak into a void,
would be more fruitful than another soul.

I hold my breath
anticipating-

waiting to be asked something
anything.

my voice, opinions, feelings
hold no value

all I ask of you is to
                       listen.
listen to me

Flowers are what keep me together
They keep me sane
They make me feel safe when alone
I draw Flowers for comfort
But eventually they die
Eventually I'm alone
The flowers are gone
Flowers made me feel safe
They were my comfort.

You talk to everyone, everyone in your heart,
But you’re not a god,
You’re just a woman sitting in a subway car, talking to herself.
You talk to Dionysus, asking him for a drink.
You go to the tobacco field, smoking a hookah there,
Because you like the smell of tobacco leaves.

You walk down the street, feeling the scent of lilacs,
Though it’s not spring.
People look at you, and you think you know them all.
You feel somatic touches,
It seems like the one you love has come to you and touched you.

You listen to the music, The Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony.”
You feel an extreme, your taste receptors sharpen.
You feel love, elevated.