There have been so many moments
that I have missed.
Completely escaping from my pen.
Writing feels almost foreign to me,
It’s been so long.
I feel ill-equipped, unprepared,
Not qualified in the slightest.
The thoughts that are buzzing around my brain
Refuse to transplant themselves
Onto the paper in front of me
They reject and avoid these
New environments.
I don’t know. I suppose
I sympathize for them, they’re afraid
Scared little thoughts, terrified of judgement
Aren’t I not the same?
Existing is a scary concept for all of us
I’m sure
But I think the best of us learn to hide, to confuse
The clock begins to tick down
My eyes are getting
Worse by the minute
I can feel it, I can live it.
And it’s getting
infinitely harder to breathe
To the point where I visit
The doctor for help.
Once again,
There’s too much time
I conclude
Too many possibilities
It all sounds terrible. What am I supposed to do.
Unruly and untamed I stroll through my exhibition
My disappointments, my unlived-in potential
Of unspoken thoughts, of uncommunicable feelings
They seem to be enjoying themselves
Enjoying the company, enjoying the rest
I suppose I would to.
It’s difficult to choose one to expose,
One to leave out
For the sun to eventually dry out
One to abandon forever.
I don’t know how to say goodbye.
I’ve never been good with farewell.
Not quite sure what I’m doing here
Brain where have you been.
I yell out to nowhere in particular.
What’s going on.
Please answer soon,
Because the clock is ticking down
And I remember a time where
Writing used to be my salvation,
But now writing seems to have
become nothing more than the source of
my everlasting frustration.
I hope things shift soon,
I hate being so far out of the loop,
Being so far from who I used
To be, the person I believed was me.
Maybe things will change, they have to.

When you look, what is it that you see? I don't think you see what I do, yet you might try and tell me that it is so, but the way you read the signs is so blind to the splendor, the extravagance of what is there. I find no evidence you see what I see. Soon my luminous world grows dark as the shadows of yours seek to ground what should be in flight, make cynical of all potential light. Why must the world be cast into black and white when there is so much color?
You think it safe to bind yourself within the safety of your rules,
afraid to venture out,
step outside the here and now,
outside this room, this building, this city, this country.
Within this world erase the boundaries, erase the lines,
and realize what lives sure enough dies. That's what makes it so beautiful, aporia In attoraxic duress, we are merely consciousness, outside the blood and the flesh, outside the vessel. For the universe needed something, so now, I observe it, someone had to take notice. Thus, it was given to us to take it and shape it, make it the wonderful place in which we think we can only imagine. Imagine how if we tried to see the potential, the possibilities, released the hate, the anger, the cynicism. We limit ourselves but I don't want to feel the constraints anymore, I'm ready to be, I'm ready to exist, to flourish, to find beauty in simplicity, to imagine, to create, to wonder, to let go of the urge to know and to embrace the infinite possibilities.

The human mind is immeasurable. Don't build bars around your infinite potential.

why do you torment me
when I'm feeling the most satisfactory
I'm feeling like i can touch the sky with my hands
that i am creating this rainbow of potential with massive colors floating through the air to match my soul
you show up and shatter everything

the rainbow that I created isn't an actual rainbow
it isn't all the flurries in the sky like i imagined
but it is a picture
a very very fragile picture that you can shatter so easily

all it takes is a glimpse of your face
a note of your voice
your breathe near me
all it takes is a thought of you and my rainbow shatters
it shatters into pieces that become so small that you can never gather all of them
so when i repaint my rainbow in the sky
my massive colors flowing, abounding with potential
there are always pieces missing
and each time you shatter it there are more pieces missing

maybe i need to stop making rainbows
maybe i need to create something else
i need to take all the pieces that i keep having to recollect after every single time you shatter them
the tiny itty bitty pieces that represent who i am and who i want to be
who i was

i must create a new picture
i must create something new and exciting and bold that recaptures who i am

maybe i should make a glittering sea
i should take my pieces and mold them together like mounds of clay
pushing pushing pulling
pushing pushing pulling
molding
creating

an ocean
i want to create an ocean
glittering bright
it will be made so you can see the rushing waters
it is so real that the picture seems to be moving
up, down
the waves so smooth
but when you get closer they become harsher
they become more frantic
more chaotic
but it is a beautiful chaotic

that is who i am
i am beautifully chaotic

i can transform in the blink of an eye
from that nice girl who's a good friend who you can trust completely
into something more
something more than the nice girl
something more than who i was

because i will no longer be the nice girl
i will no longer be deemed as someone who's just a good friend
someone who's just nice just pretty
just there
standing in the background

I will have my own spotlight
that's right

I will become selfish
i will become maniacal
i will become manipulative

but i will do anything it takes to protect my picture

i wish i could describe
the feeling of standing in a large, open building
while a storm rages outside

the roof is a million miles away
something in your soul /feels/ the open space around you
the emptiness, not a bad emptiness
simply /there/, simply powerful
if you had wings, they would fill the space
it's the feeling of potential
at once the potential for the space to be filled
and the electricity that fills it

the storm is above your head
and around your body
and deep in your chest
all that open space between you and the storm
it's surreal.
you're both acutely aware of your fragility
and aware that this torm
won't even touch you.
you feel small
and also like this moment,
the present,
is just an old memory, locked away
from years ago, that you stumbled upon
in the manner one does, when time is simply not a concept.

standing in a large building with a storm raging outside
is humanity.

It’s 3:09
And if everything was fine
Then I would be sound asleep by now wouldn’t I?

But just like my potential
I’ve ignored my sleep schedule
That I might collapse wide awake to ponder ”Why?”