i want to leave not because
the world is too much,
but i am.
dancing in the sunshine,
singing in the rain,
smiling as if my life is brilliant.
my outside life if pretty perfect,
but the inside is rusty.
too many cracks and snags,
too many broken pipes, fractured beams
to be useful
anymore.
you wouldn’t use a vase that can’t hold water,
so why use a life that can’t hold joy?

what a blessing for a writer,
to suffer.

adds validity,
better to speak
from experience
than imagination.
see, fiction writers
write to escape.
us poets?
we write
to release.

ink allows us
to bleed
onto
perfect plain paper pages,
our true canvas.
a ‘healthier’
way
to bleed.

perhaps
it’s because
they don’t see
the wounds words leave.
never experienced
that punch to the
gut, i’m sure,
from
one
single
line.

does that make them lucky?
i’m unsure.
perhaps it suggests
they’ve never
been that
misunderstood,
neglected,
lonely,
as to where words
are their only friends.
on the other hand,
they’ve never known
the pure
bliss
that is
understanding.
sweet, sour
relief.

those of us
that have experienced
it,
we long to feel it
again.
so we write,
to understand ourselves,
and hopefully,
help others do the same.

eyes don’t lie,
but they’re shockingly
easy to miss.
glass irises got unnoticed,
bloodshot pupil silenced.
our eyes pretend
to be
omniscient,
so why
don’t
they
notice

I am awakened with a sensation going through my body

Paralyzed

I can’t move

It’s on me

Clawing at me

Finally I catch a moment

I turn and I yelp

I scream

No one hears me

I’m twisting in the blanket

Something’s watching me

223am my phone vibrates

I wasn’t actually awake

Now I feel this sensation of something all over me

I keep trying to brush it off
Itch it away
My skin is literally crawling.
I know I’m awake for real this time

Night terrors haunt me

& 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀:    

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥
𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱.

𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬
𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸
𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱?

𝘛𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘰
𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳?"

     𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀.

The greenery of this place never fooled me
The sky just looks so fake,
the clouds are drawn on.
Im at the park on the swings
I need to feel something in my stomach before I waste away at the young ripe age of 5

Just 8 years later getting fingered on the same slide I was afraid of as a little girl
The wind from the past keeps the swings on the playground moving higher
Doing the things that are bad for me
Just to feel lighter

When I'm 15 I have no place to be
No one and nothing to call home
Not even my body is somewhere I know.  
I pop a xannie for the thrill
Hoping that stranger I messaged will take me away from the godforsaken place

This stupid park that holds me so captive.
Run away can't face what is happening
In my head, I'm already dead
Nothing is real
take a Xanax
I only like doing the things that are bad for me
I only like feelings if they're going to make me bleed
I don't care about the context
Of my universal insignificance, I can't even repent. Sitting here on the floor. Higher than the swings ever brought me.
Crashing harder and harder each time I speak.
I can't get off the swing.