#stimming
I flap my arms and kick my feet
Like a young sparrow
Ready to take flight
And the breeze is warm, welcoming
And the sky is an endless pick-yourself-up sort of blue
The sun pours through the trees and drips onto my little brown wings
Like golden honey upon fresh bread
And my heart bursts through my delicate chest
My ribcage unable to quell the flood of elation
All brittle and hollow-boned
But when I spread my limbs wide
And ready myself to leap into that big blue ocean sky
I can't help but stumble and fall
Someone has clipped my wings
Yet there is no pooling blood
Nor a stinging open wound
For the only ache is that of my tiny sparrow heart
My legs are tied up with the fear of others' judgement
And the many strings of tomorrows I am not yet ready for
So I quiet myself and fall back
Into an empty nest of egg shells and feathers
Just as any broken bird would
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 2:03 PM UTC
Why can’t I stop?
Moving, clicking, pressing,
Picking, biting,
I need to, have to
Am I too much?
Too loud? To open?
Oh, I messed up,
Too impatient to talk
Too impatient
Why can’t I wait?
Tapping my leg, hand,
Pressing my chances
I need to think,
“Sure, I’ll do it”
I don’t want to,
Why didn’t I think?
Where has my energy gone?
Why am I restless?
I’m tired, pent up?
Too active, lethargic.
Nov 3, 2025
Nov 3, 2025 at 12:12 PM UTC
(what lives in me before I understand)
It begins in my body
long before my mind arrives.
A surge, a flicker,
a trembling at the root of me
that says:
we are already feeling.
There is no stillness
that does not ripple.
No calm
that doesn’t carry the hum beneath it -
not peace,
but a kind of readiness.
Like lightning waiting just behind the skin.
I used to try to stop it.
To breathe it away.
To silence it
before it unraveled me in front of someone else.
But it only grew sharper in the hiding.
It only screamed louder
the more I tried to be soft.
Now,
I listen.
Not because I’m unafraid,
but because I’m done pretending
this isn’t me.
This intensity -
it isn’t a problem.
It’s a language.
One I’ve been speaking since before I had words.
Maybe even longer.
Maybe it was handed down,
a birthright carved from all the grief
my blood couldn’t name.
It leaves when it wants to.
Returns just as quickly.
There is no asking it to stay gone.
Only learning
not to run
when it comes back.
And so I live
with this current in me.
I build small shelters around it.
I move gently
but not away.
I say:
I hear you.
You don’t have to beg.
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 1:46 PM UTC
dark room
draped in shadow
soft music
slipping in and out
gentle colors
flow into my eyes
fuzzy socks
will warm my soul
heavy blankets
help ease my pains
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 2:57 PM UTC
Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
I’m humming so that I can’t hear them
But they can hear me
And hate my humming
But how else do I cope?
Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 8:31 AM UTC
my fingers are like insects -
twitching flies ready to live
because come nightfall
their bodies will fall
still.
but the night never comes -
there is always light here
unless i’m forced to see
just how disgusted
others grow
with me.
dawn breaks into starlight
as i am cast into the dark
cage of my body being
forced to bottle
my motion
until i
burst.
to bottle a supernova
is as foolish as it is
impossible.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC