You would say something about the push and pull of every day. And we would plop down with ideas. Think of this and think of that.
Throwing words like imagine and wouldn't it be amazing out into the open. You would even make plans, with patterns and colours for something to go on your wall, your own wall, whenever you'd have a wall. How many of those open docs do you have on your computer, with half-finished chapters and riveting denouements? I know it's hard to believe the people we once used to be. And sometimes fistfuls of carpet can feel like your only way to grip onto the world. Sometimes it feels easier to tear yourself limb from limb than look for your voice. It feels easier to sink into your bed, asleep or searching for sleep than to walk the miles ahead. Waking up every morning, de-shelling yourself, and stepping outside of who you are and used to be can make your bones ache deeply. There isn't much to say about the push and pull of everyday, except that there is a wall, your wall, and it's blank.

the sun is as hot as spaghetti
steaming with a sauce
served with a side of sizzling hot cherries.

my tie is so tight I cough in silent h's
and I'm sweating
my pores shooting out like a fountain
and my face, like an umbrella in the rain.

no time to think
no time to reason
"Ding, Ding DIING!"
I jump like I was slapped on the cheek
my beard itches, my right eye twitches
"What the F* is this?"
I write out the first words that come to me
"Ding, Ding, DIING!"
but I'm not done writing
I look at the bell,  "you f*king ****"
and I jump again, like there was a puddle before me
my head is as hot as popcorn
no, even hotter
and you can hear it pop
from the front and from the back
"Ding, Ding, DIING!"
i jump again
it's me vs. a bell.

I am waiting for slumber to keep
and surrender to the deep,
but only aches do conquer,
claiming victory over my saunter.

Tried so hard it surpassed my limits
I'm a drained over achiever and a dreaming believer
Really my work is a reward if you could tell by my eyebags
Education system won't let me take a breather
Determination is my pill and I won't stop until I'm burnt out.

We are worthy. We are capable. We are loved.

Especially when we're sick and tired or when we feel like laying in bed all day. Or when we actually do nothing the whole day. I want to remind us that this doesn't mean we're not productive, not capable or not worthy.

We're still as worthy as before, we're still as loved as before. It's just that our bodies and minds need to rest.
We actually need to rest regularly, but sometimes we forget that.

Now that I am sick I realized that and it's a relief to be there for myself although I feel so unproductive. I am loved. And you are, too. No matter what you're doing or not doing.

As we grow,
We mature.
Our ideas change,
So does our nature.
I don't want to instigate,
As much as I want to love now.
I used to want to rule an empire,
But now I'll settle for common things.
Settle down with my queen,
I'll last forever, if she lets me.

As we grow,
We lose touch.
Of each little thing we know,
Everything we loved so much.
I no longer feel aggression,
The same way I feel peace.
I may be tired,
But I'm just tuckered out,
I've learned to sleep.

I’m too much.
I’ve heard it in every sigh,
seen it in every glance that lingers just a second too long—
the weight of me suffocating the space between us.

I ask for too much,
but it never feels like it.
I don’t ask for the world,
just the bare minimum:
A little attention. A little care.
A little proof that I matter.

But somehow, even that’s too heavy.
Too big. Too loud.

I’ve learned to bite my tongue,
to shrink myself down to something easier to swallow.
Soft-spoken. Simple. Small.
An echo of who I was,
because maybe then,
I’ll be easier to love.

Spoiler alert: I’m not.

I’m always too needy,
too messy,
too complicated.
The kind of person you put up with,
but never choose.
The kind of person you forget as soon as the door closes.

I feel it every time I reach out,
fingers trembling in the dark,
hoping someone will hold on—
only to find the emptiness waiting for me again.

I want to scream,
“I don’t want much!”
Just to feel seen.
Just to not be forgotten.
Just to be the kind of person who matters to someone—
even for a little while.

But I’ve learned how this goes.
I ask,
and I become too much.
I stay quiet,
and I become invisible.

Caught somewhere between being too heavy to carry
and too easy to leave behind.

So, I sit with the weight of it.
The loneliness.
The ache that tells me I’ve always been replaceable.
A body that takes up space
but never quite fits anywhere.

And the worst part?
I still keep hoping.
Still keep waiting for someone to see me
and not run.

Even though I know they will.

They always do.