the little indent on my finger
on my ******* right above the third knuckle on my right hand
from my pen
it reappears when i’m writing again

i want him to touch me in places that’s going to make my skin burn

pride goeth before the fall

not a dry eye in the house

i understand the sentiment, you’re unsure of my ability
my reliability
my drive

It could’ve been something that I said, my phrasing is always self-deprecating I know
Ive needed the adjustment, I don’t do well I know

What bothers me is the piling.
Everything always increases
It never gets easier

Not that I don’t think that I can
But haven’t been able to
I have never shown myself that Im capable

I tell myself differently
Like yelling at a brick wall
I stand unmovable at my own motivation
Wouldn’t my words mean more?

No matter what
I can
I will
I have before
I will continue

Ill never stop, but my heart wants the feeling to stop
Ill never let it
She can take it

Im also so sick of this depressing hopeful tone that I take. That I don’t think I can but will do it type speaking
I don’t know why I do it, because I’ve always been a self fulfilling prophecy, those feelings always end up being true.

light blues and tea
tea and camping chairs
chairs and the breeze
and a fire
fire?

you know, there’s no place i’ve ever wanted to be more.
remember that song? the place that makes me happy?
it’s never been anywhere else. us. you and me. and our light blues.

I wanted to ask for a minute now if you’re doing alright, not because it’s extremely noticeable  but you’re quieter and less interested in things. It’s not something that you can put into words either, but it’s a look in your eyes like you need more, like you don’t see the light like you used to. We don’t talk like we used to, and when we do I just take up all the silence with my thoughts. I don’t know if I’m giving you enough space to share or if I’m making it all about me. I don’t have a need to know what it is, but it’s digging at me to make sure that you can handle whatever it is. And if it’s important to you then it’s important to me, because you matter to me and I notice. I miss the old look you had, and I miss hearing what’s happening in your head.
I miss you.
Do you remember when I used to bring cigarettes and you’d make tea, and we’d sit outside for hours discussing anything and everything. It was all out in the open and it was all easier to keep track of when you were listening. I learned so much about you and everything you thought about was in my head, we would sit and offer advice and grow the conversation past menial problems to grand concepts that made everything else bearable.
That was my favorite part of every day.
The end of some eras make everything else bitter. Remembering what used to bring me so much joy. And now I don’t know what does, and I’m not sure if you know this or if you feel it too, but I’m positive it’ll come back. Whatever makes sense to us at any given time will make its way back. And we’ll survive it.

I think the people made me feel safer
The city didn’t sleep
Even if there were creeps there were friends
Here there’s no one
No one to help if I needed it
More judgmental faces instead of

Anyways I was supposed to be talking about the trees
They’re sturdy and I need that
I wish I was one more times than not
Their arms are still and reliable
They change their hair on a cycle and it’s never not gorgeous
It’s like shelter
Safety in storms, they fall but only when it’s time
And they don’t have to get back up, because that’s where they belong after

I wish I had an inherent duty like that
To protect and then fall
Nothing else just to be strong

It might be all it is, strength
It’s complicated though
There’s so much to think about

I won’t end this like usual
I can be strong and I will, I don’t really have a choice
I’ve gotta buy new shoes soon anyways
And they’ll see it eventually, I don’t have to tell them
And then I’ll be a tree

Smother ground
Soar in breeze
Breathe them in
Release yourself
you have to change with them
natures known what’s best for awhile now
the cycle keeps you alive
turn orange then yellow
make your descent to the floor
Make room for fresh motion

I am but a fragment of everything
But apart of it
Iridescent and shifting
but I am here

I’m out of practice but I have words
I am tired but I am in the midst
The moon keeps me up at night and I can’t seem to make the morning

I am scared and bored and happy and so very lost

I make no sense in my head hopefully it doesn’t pull together here

I hope someone sees it

I hope to feel again
Those hills and valleys are terrain on an otherwise deserted landmark
The most interesting thing about me are my words
Without I am blank

What comes and goes is the heart of it all
Sometimes living to write it down later is the key
Sit like you’re being observed by an artist
And speak like all your words mean more
Like you’re being heard, loved, cherished


I wonder how to get back
When I stray from what makes me
Learning how to write
To read
To listen
How to act like art again
To see the beauty and to follow it
To the ends of everything I thought was important
To take the people with me that deserve it
And the ones that don’t
To not forget, but to release

And this is all very abstract
But I would rather describe a far away feeling than to have never felt it

Tomorrow will be different
I’ll put pen to paper
And I’ll feel the sun on my face
And I’ll call someone
Write about someone else

What would it take to write about something other than myself
All these feelings that come from nothing
An experience is nothing like they said
They said when you go, use it
But I would rather sit and wait

All of your music is in my head
So today I’m listening to streets you don’t walk
And people you don’t talk to
I’m hearing nothing but your voice
So today I’m talking over it
With no hopes I won’t bore it
I’m turning your fumes into flowers
Your screams that are fueling my noisy head
I’m walking faster and farther
And you are filling in a grave you dug yourself

The sun shines for me
She tells me when to bloom; when to turn toward; when to thrive
If I only listen to her then why is the moon so appealing
Why does it catch me and gleam; why do I turn toward; why do I bloom
I do not thrive in the moonlight
Deceptive light and warmth calls me in the cold night
Gullible I; leaving my fire
Must there be so many hours in the night

Life must be
I picture a desert, vast, dusty
A tent, or trailer. Stringed lights, some different colors but others a warm gold onion color
I have a dog, her name is something like olive or julia
I have many blankets. I make them, for myself. Sometimes friends. Sometimes travelers.
I have a lover. I see them every two moons. They know everything about me and they write songs of my peace. I hear of their adventures and I describe them back through poems so they see their world as I do.
I read, I know everything. I am a Master of Arts and trades.
I write novels of life. I see the smallest things and I tell everyone of their hugeness. The importance of those we rarely see are pictured in my library. There is a net over my spiral collection where I lay.
The train brings me to a forest where I sit and listen to the rain. I catch colds because I refuse to ever hide from her showers.
The air I wake up to fills me everyday. I never yearn for anything I cannot create. I am known and loved. My rose glasses have never left because the lenses of my cornea are the most beautiful shade of pink.
Life must be

I hope someone finds my notebooks
I hope they find people
I hope they repeat my name

Centuries after I am buried

I am not made to stay.

That’s it I just heard someone say it and thought it belonged here

This loss
This waste without regret
This I wouldn’t trade for the world
This I can’t leave alone
This I crave for my being

It’s special, it’s ours

We won’t talk about it, we never will
But when I see you again
Will my eyes do nothing but well
Will my knees crumble with relief and love
Will I scream out for you
Will it hurt any less the next time we leave?

In another life in another time
You don’t leave and neither do I
And we stay and we build and we live
And that’s enough for both of us

Somehow I think we’re the only ones
That no one knows about this
About this level of love
Connection
Heartbreak
Somehow I think we know more
That we’re special
And I think we’re in denial
I think
We don’t want it to be what it is because it doesn’t make sense
But I love you nonetheless

What’s funny is that I can do anything
I can wake up early or late
I can eat whatever and try to enjoy it
I can be healthy
Unhealthy
I can be funny or serious
I can provide advice
Insight
I can convince myself everything is falling apart
Or I can see the good things and press on
Both are true
I can preach understanding and love
Spout mindfulness and dissect psyche
And at the same time I can walk the line of sanity on a Tuesday
I can present together, safe, smart, ahead
And at the same time crave those things to the point they are unattainable

To crave death as I do
To step on glass
To not look both ways
To wonder what lies

A forbidden realm
I see it so clearly,
Waterfalls and light
Elation and love

I wish to be the most at peace
To have what others cannot
To be where I want to without doing what I have to
The journey is what gets me

The exhaustion
The unknown
The versatility of the future
The scarceness of certainty

If not today
Tomorrow
If not then

Must be doing something wrong
If I haven’t made you look at the light long enough to crave living here
Must be failing
If you think that you could go quiet into the raging storm
If I haven’t convinced you we are all strong enough to give the minimum
I must show you that it’s not glamorous until it is
Until you put on the rose glasses that keep me alive
I must be the one
I’ll put it all on my shoulders for you
I’m confident and I must
Hurt into memory
Diving makes the water deep

if i ever knew where i stood
i would walk

if i have kids
id push
i don't want them to feel like this

i wish it was easier
to be where i want

that requires knowing
and who does

last night I chased a man through his yard.

he was throwing a cigarette **** into the tree line.

despite the irony of slowly killing your self via smoke and fire, only to dispose of our noose into your own hair.

I could do nothing but wonder if you know? If you care? If it hurts you or if you’re in denial about the ******. The pain doesn’t allow you to fight back.

Burn us
Flood us
Throw us in the air and drown us in our homes

does it count as a suicide cult if our intention is just to give in to you.

I feel bad, I put one out in the grass earlier, stomped. But it felt menial, I only convinced myself of that because I feel bad. If that’s my limit though, then how on earth is the world melting around us,
Record highs
Lows

we disregard and keep falling.

I’m angry with us, myself for the inability to exist without detriment to you.
What should I do.

Do you know?

Do you care?

How do you want me to live?

          If at all.

Like a wave overtaking me
Going up my nose and up to my head
The sting and burn relieve me

But Is it new?
Is it just the cycle of rebirth and the funk
Would it remedy the feeling if I created change greater than I ever have?
Will it ever stop?

Was I ever fixed, I was told not to use that word but I have been simply because of the endless stream of things to be fixed.
Would changing my perspective and seeing them as challenges and levels to overcome instead of problems to fix and return back to normal being
I should reject the regular and aspire to use problematic events to my advantage
But who knows
It’s all cheese

Comes with finding it again
Like taking off pounds of weight
Diving into a cold pool
Or a hot one
Reaching the top of a tree
Finishing a book
Jumping off a high rock
Letting go of your air
Giving the reins to someone else
The relief is indescribable
I long for it
It’s all going to be ok

There’s a secret that everyone’s keeping from me
If there is an answer they know
They’re doing it and they won’t tell me what it is
They’re using it against me and laughing at me from far away
It makes me angry
Why would they do that
Why would they do that to me I’m right here
I can see them doing that
What kind of person leaves another in bewilderment and confusion
And then goes on without a thought of what I could be screaming about in my room
They know what it is
What makes it better
What makes it easier
What could cure me
Fix my head and my heart and my life
They know
And they won’t tell me

I feel gravity in my most intimate center


It’s like lifting blocks of concrete with my heart,
Wondering why you are so far


I’m wrapped in chaos
Tethered to you
                 To this place


I want someone to dissect me like I do

Dandelion sun
Grass I can count on
Mushroom tea and my favorite song
My cat sleeps outside
Fog covers her on her restorative days
It’s been raining for weeks
She’s getting better
Or she’s preparing for the worst
Because it’s yet to come

I’d do whatever she tells me
But I watch from far
Scared of her and her enemies

I have a growing exhaustion for living
It’s surreal that
Things don’t stop happening
That I have to revive these things with grace and maturity
And I can’t make it stop

What do you name an overwhelming feeling
To immerse yourself in another person
Inability to be lonely
But the solitude is overwhelming anyways
With or without another

Excavate me
Reach inside and dig
Find out what it is that you yearn for
Take it out and we can look at it
Wonder and study obsess over
I have no idea where it came from

Drowning in my brain
It’s on fire
It’s suffocating
It’s something I can’t explain
It’s something I’ve set for myself
These expectations
These rules
They’re mine
I’m the only one not following
Crushed by the size of the world
By the options
By the fear
The fear of it all
I’ll stop when I can’t cry myself to sleep anymore
When the world doesn’t try and pull me limb from limb
When the bubble pops
When I can see clearly
When my food doesn’t all taste the same
And I can sleep soundly
And I have self control
When I can lift it,
When I’m strong enough to roll the boulder out of the way
God gave you what you could handle

Destiny stays undecided until decided
Birds are born and then they are taught to survive, then thrown to the wind for finding food and a mate, building a home and then dying
Trees are born from the mother tree and grown and stand, consistently forever until someone decides they need that tree gone or the tree just lives forever.
As people, a thousand purposes could not satisfy even the smallest of aspirations

been sprouting prose for years, and every once in a while I get sick of it.
so in layman's terms,
fricking everything *****, but it doesn't
think about everything, but not too much, you'll die.
think about the little things, deeply, immerse yourself, and **** depression, house arrest for your brain that only the sun will release you from.
and **** anxiety, that stuff is nervousness for your daily life,
just excitement buckling over into space
and leaving it up to the sky, the stars, or aligning yourself with the sand, and then multiply, you are strong in numbers

anywhere i have to,
but its funny, the how is not really an issue, there’s so many methods to get where i must go.
however,

what is unknown to me that i must find the nature of, that i do not know
which is obvious, because it is unknown (the definition being that that is not known.)

in simpler terms, to find out all the things, i must start somewhere.
starting happens to be an issue, because of the lack of security that comes with the unknown

every time i look up, it feels like looking down into an abyss. which is true, because stars are down and the universe is all around.
the universe even on the planet is so much bigger than i could even imagine, all the specifics are so large its hard to even imagine what spending all the of time i have on earth doing.

I throw my drugs away, when they find a cure for pain

that's actually really beautiful
beautiful
beautiful
how long do you think we can say that.
before we have to move?
elongated
heavy
burdensome*
burdensome be that of anything that comes up in daily life.
anything that punctures my will or my drive
in my floruit with nothing at the end
I'm writing because its the only thing I know how to do
hardly
**** lol

Dust on my finger
Don’t lick it, that would be grosser
Grosser than the dust and fingernails on the floor
Than smoking a cigarette on the balcony
The balcony
Unfinished projects live there
I try not to look at them when I’ve decided now isn’t the time
For the last 6 months
Now isn’t the time
Always time for something new though?
I’d say

a woman who wants is a woman who wins
and a woman who cries is a woman who feels
and a woman who tries is a woman who completes
she takes what she has and she fills herself up, she sees everything
yet she sees nothing at all.

you see, the world is so small until it isn’t,
and she can take it all in at once but for her own sake
she has to ration,
take steps and grow according to her body
to her soul and her mind
to all parts of her being, that each take special care in order to be chosen and tested, which they will
its gonna take some time, and a lots gonna change

as the sun slips below your shoulder, you can see more clearly than ever, and the sky is more beautiful than you’ve never seen.
and the clouds shield you from the glare, and the wind bites but guides in the decided direction.
where the wild things are going

in comfort there is static, not movement
develop, please

I live for the little things
But the larger they get the more I cower below what I thought I knew just to cry in the shadow of what really is
It’s ***** move
I feel small, but when I fall i crash and I burn and it feels like I’m on fire. The biggest blaze
It’s only in my head. Getting stuck in there is the scariest possible outcome. No harm right?
No one is going to tell me how to be, unlike the voice that makes me fill with guilt at all the things I’ve wasted and used up. Taken for granted.
Nothings wrong with me. I could chalk it up to sentient laziness and fear.
I’m through. I do what I want, and if I don’t the voice is going to make it happen.
I’m listening to her

icky achy
spot
mountain
molehill
polka dot
ooey gooey
yellow
squishy ow
bellow

Straws cut up for a unique taste
Hard water at 12:30
Cold soup, spilled
New playlist
Mini cans of Dr. Pepper
Rugs on the balcony
With the bikes
Two candles four wicks
Wishes of rappel
Down the side
Running without shortness of breath
Gump style denial
Cross country healing