I fashioned myself a dress of black lace;
Dark and elegant, epitome of grace;
Soft on my skin, caress like a lover's,
My comfort, my design, a haven of covers.

They called it macabre - filled them with unease;
Dangerous, they said, termed it a disease.
And yes, I'm unwell, but darkness is my veil -
A reprieve from hell, solace without fail.
I am the tailor, the sculptor of shadows,
The reaper of melancholy my art sows.
And yes, it is odd, fragile, morose -
The marble thorns of an obsidian rose.

The judging whispers that follow in my wake,
Can't comprehend I do this for my sake:
The sharp edges they call jarring and cold -
They are my palace, impenetrable stronghold.

Where others see emptiness, I notice lace,
The gossamer threads of a misty embrace;
They are but blind to the kingdom of nothing,
Only see moats, and wall canons jutting.
My castle of ghosts, the court I control,
Those remain hidden, deep in my soul.
The siren song, my foggy lullaby,
The velvety clouds on which my thoughts lie.
It is morphium, made in my mind
Embroidered dullness only I can find.
The words bounce off my protective bubble,
Your bombs shatter into a gray rubble.
I blow it away, along with my fears,
I got good at this, during the years.

Give me some credit, I am no fool,
Where others would drown, I can rule;
I know not to freeze, when water's too cool,
The fire you'd burn in, I use as fuel.

Yes, it's a thin line, I know it best,
But I'm a trapeze-artist, can pass the test;
A veteran of trade, the air is my nest,
I've learned to live without getting rest.

And I know my limits, how far I can press,
Worry you not, I've survived on much less.
I'm not glass, disperse your concerns,
If need be, the lace to razor wire turns.

I don't have a personality
I have a diagnosis.
I am not 'very- '
I'm 'hyper- '
I'm not 'bad at'
I'm 'exhibiting dysfunction'.
I'm not forgetful
it's time blindness
I'm not clever
it's hyperfixation
I'm not active
it's stimming
I'm not shy
it's anxiety.
I have a cluster of conditions
balled up in my chest
instead of a heart.
I don't have a brain
I have a doctor's hand behind my eyes
navigating me through the world.
I'm empty without my suffering.

I want to just hide
Away from everyone
Maybe I do need meds
I'm not sure if I can make it much longer
I just don't know how to speak up about it
How do you hide from yourself?
Is it physically possible?
If it is someone please help
Tell me how
I just wanna be gone

Some nights I lie awake not knowing what to feel
About this year that has brought so much ******* pain,
And I know I am so lucky
In so many ways,
Yet still I am afraid —

See I awoke yesterday to skies raining ash
And smoke-choked clouds,
And I cannot shake the worry that one day soon I will be woken in the dark,
Five minutes from a death by fire;
That I will return days later to find
The charred remains of my childhood possessions,
My family’s photos, the physical manifestation of the things I hold dear,
Knowing this has happened to so many others,
That it’s happening even as I write;

See I live in a country
Where to wear a mask is seen by many as an attack on personal liberty,
Where science has become political
And facts are constantly up for debate;
Where people are dying by the tens of thousands and we fear it will keep getting worse,
And this all could have been prevented before it happened
But now it is happening and being denied every day;
Where people with health issues like me can be considered worthless to society,
And it costs thousands of dollars to get care that should be free;
Where innocent people are gunned down for the color of their skin
And denied medication and healthcare and jobs and housing and help and so so much more
And people think their deaths do not matter because they think they do not matter
And suffering is blamed only on those who are suffering.

And believe me, I count my blessings everyday,
But I think, what can I do but help and hope and pray;
And every day I keep expecting to wake up
Depressed again, finally felled by the weight of the world
But miraculously I am not —

See I have friends and family and money and medication and I am safe and so so lucky,
But some nights I lie awake listening to songs about death and darkness and despair that bring tears to my eyes,
Waiting, wondering, wanting to cry;
And I feel the tightness in my chest and the ache in my heart yet the sobs will not come —
No tears flow down my cheeks,
No sound leaves my throat,
No shivers rack my body;
But I worry that one day the dam will burst and I will once again go back to that place of hurting too much and not caring at all,
To the sobbing for hours, the thoughts of self harm, the feeling my heart is being ripped in two
And that my fear the world is ****** is certain and true;
And I curse my broken body and the chronic pain that will no longer allow me to
Dance away my worries
Or take all the classes that I want
Or protest in streets or parks
Or write poems long into the dark —

I hold them in my heart —
The sick, the injured, the disabled, the dying, the depressed, the homeless, the hungry, the jobless, the grieving, the suffering —
The ones struggling with the things that I am and
The ones struggling with the things that I am not —
I think of them and I donate and I write and I do what I can and hope and hope that we will come together and create something from the ashes of these fires;
That the weaknesses of the world will be mended like cracks on a vase in kintsugi,
Moulded together with something more beautiful and good.

But I worry this will not happen, and I worry about the pandemic and the racism and the climate change and the inequity and all of the things I want to change;
And every day I pray for everyone,
And steel my heart for the suffering that’s to come

When I fall in love with you
Will you fall in love with me
Will you stay through thick and thin
Or will you leave me when you see

The smile vanish from my face
On those dark depressing nights
When laughter is replaced with tears
Will you flee the sorry sight

When you see me take my pills
Will it scare you off too much
Will the white lines on my wrist
Rob me of your tender touch

When I start to talk your ear off
While I’m in a manic craze
Will you stop and listen
Or dismiss it as a phase

And when the darkness scares me
Will you hold me till it passes
When my life goes up in flames
Will you pull me from the ashes

I’ll tell you I’m a wreck
And all you’ll get from me is pain
Will you agree with me and tell me
How much of you I drain

Or will you look at me and say
You’ve seen all there is to see
And say the words I yearn to hear
That you still love me

Funny the older I get the more I find myself changing
The ways I hurt myself always change, different pains. Same vices

As appealing as seeing my blood make those strange designs as they drip down my arms sounds.
It’s becoming harder to hide the wounds.

Maybe it’s the self doubt? Challenging myself on the most minor choices. Eating away at me.

Becoming obsessive over friends, strangers, anyone really.
Knowing I’m not their problem.

Or maybe it’s the drugs, the same ones that keep my brain at bay are the ones that make the grey matter rot,

it’s all about moderation, and tonight I have none.

I’m on a drive,
I’m smoking a cigarette
I’m hearing very little
I’m feeling even less
Wonder if I’ll see the engine stop, I wonder if these keys will enter my pockets again.

I wonder if the lights fade out or if it’s a cut to black

New weapons.
Same vices.
Good night.

My mind is this raging hurricane and
you can't calm a storm down lest it wants to be stopped
but mine never seem to want to stop.
Every gush of wind pushes me over
to the edge and forces me to look down
into a never ending medium
where nothing exists.

I'm sorry I'm not lazy, in fact
if you tore apart this facade and
looked inside this skin,
you will find a girl searching
tirelessly for her self worth
and for happiness for
she wants to prevail, she
wants to be loved and she
wants to never stop believing.

But my hands and feet don't stop
adding earthquakes to my storm torn
body. My brain races faster than my
mouth can speak so I'm sorry
if you can't understand what I -

No, it's not that I don't want to see you,
it's just that my heart is running a marathon
and I'm already worn out thinking
about the way I'm going to say "hi",
the way I'm just waiting for the ground
to swallow me whole just to be saved.

I’d like to believe in fairytales.

But where’s the one where the princess
hurls her body over the toilet
in order to rid the knot that’s in her stomach.

The one where she argues with the voice in her head,
then disappears for weeks on end,
having to lie to her friends
“I’m fine.”

The one where she finds her “person” charming
time again and again and again
in several different bodies.

And time again and again and again,
they leave her disappointed and wondering
if her happily ever after resides in the strangers
who take up her bed in the morning.
Charming.

But the one where she ends up
winning the battle with herself,
confiding in not only herself,
finding not just a body but also a soul,
and knowing she can only find validation from within.

I’d like to believe in that fairytale.