not your body
not your skin
not the tips of your peachy fingers
not your passionate kiss
not your heart beat
not your breath hovering over my neck,
sending goosebumps and shivers down my spine
not your eyes sighting upon my beauty
or my loveliness or my seduction or my carefreeness
I want to feel you
move
inside
not inside of me
(though, that could be nice too)
inside of you
your own heart
your own echoing cage of ribs
that lock up even scarier skeletons
than the skeleton holding it all together
I want to feel you
without being with you
without holding you
without seeing you
without constantly thinking of you
without wanting you
I want to feel you
when I am miles away,
reading a book with a cup of tea in pyjamas
when you are in class and hear something brilliant
someone just said,
something that makes you stop and think of me
without resentment
without longing
without need
without hiding
something so simple, so clear and so pertinent
something that moves and removes the clutter
in you
I want to feel you love
yourself,
the world,
the trees, the scrapes on your heart’s knees
and me
with no want and no need

my air
is heavy with volume
my air
is hard to attain
my air
is desperately sought for
when the occupancy of
people is tested by my mind’s
carrying capacity to absorb
all these racing thoughts
present with tears,silence,and isolation
in hope to escape the
impending
fill in the blank
course of action or person or idea
that will cast sweat blanketing my body
like inevitable dew on grass
leave me seemingly forever choosing flight
against my will
my feet bear the burden
of countless runs to sanctuary
‘Be kind to your body’
knees meet the earth
familiar contact
bruises are an old friend
hyperventilation the unwelcome relative
anxiety is myself
‘I’m trying’
how many cubicle walls
stood mute witnessing
the remnants of remnants
of strength to hold my face
that’s not my face
leak out in the form of rivers
eroding the skin underneath my eyes
my cheeks will rival that of
marble
smooth and absent of
everything
‘Take care of yourself’
i ache for good days
i’ll even settle for alright
if it means i’m okay
not-overthinking
i wish i could do less of
not-restlessness
my vessel craves quiet sleep and
peace in me
not-fear
i want to cast out these demons
‘I’m trying’
people
events
school
the definition of
things
every single aspect
that encompasses my
life
has been trying
in one way or another
the fragility of my spirit
to endure
all thrown in my direction
with self doubt
with self hate
with self breaking
over analyzing
overestimating
underestimating
second guessing
worrying
uncertainty about
all
‘Happiness is your priority’
the pursuit of bliss
carefreeness
grounding
it’s a method
to combat
attacks
i versus i
long to come back to earth
when my being is suspended
in the clouds
weightless encapsulation
with invisible ties
slave to my own
where is gravity with
this one
does floating have an
expiration date
endless breathes
shaking frame
eyebrows turned north
formed physical mountain
‘I’m trying’
language screaming from my
closed mouth
words etched onto my
form
for only my eyes to
memorize
my mental
health
possesses it’s own personal climate
goes through seasons
falls and blooms
chills my soul
and warms my entirety
it’s ever evolving
unpredictable as
forecasting without
equipment
it is not without the weather of
natural disasters
environmental factors
the state of
my atmosphere in my head
there are disagreeable
conditions
precipitation frequent
cloudiness often
pressure recurrent
occasional storms
however
there are
instances of numerous sunshine
periodic stability
intermittent clear skies
conquering or failing
one day after another
the routine cycle
giving what i get
and providing what i receive
with full knowledge
someday i will have to
try no longer
‘I’m trying’

-Haley

Ebony,
Ebony is her name.
Quite the character indeed
She moves with such elegance
Skin so soft and golden
I stand by as I watch her take a bath
underneath the beaming sun
and absorb every single ray.
Afterwards, she grabs a clean towel and
dries off her glistening bronzed skin.
Honey drips down.
10,000 bumble bees follow
as she makes her way down the ocean.
She buries her feet into the white sand
and, leaves her imprint.
Her hair stands *****,
as though it had been crafted to defy all odds of gravity.
Gradually, it blooms
and I can't believe what my eyes are seeing.
When she sings, it sounds like 10,000 angels.
Voice as calming as gentle breeze.
A tranquil melody.
With every word she pours out,
echoes the beautiful sound of brilliance.
She's no ordinary one.
Every single bone and flesh
was carefully assembled and knitted
by the Messiah himself.
To her, he gifted an Enchanted soul which would
be like nothing anyone has seen.
If only everyone had the privilege to see what I just saw,
they wouldn't hate her this much.
She has been tied in chains,
stripped down and wounded.
But why would anyone despise a soul so magical?
Was it out of jealousy?
It might've also been out of pure ignorance.
But after this day,
I'll be ****** to express such ignorance.
Now I know for a fact that her level of carefreeness was built on the foundation of struggle.
I think I might've come across a real life goddess.
Ebony,
Ebony is her name.

You say: attention
is the most loving thing
you can give

I answer: carefreeness
is the most loving thing
you can have

It often eludes me
Then I lie awake
because I can't do anything

as long as there are no certainties
no current measurements and slices
for relief or a new plan

I want to try everything
to gain time
exhaust all my strength

adapt
and save who I am
what I'm worth

my head full of purplish blue fragrance
which turns my feelings blue
Blue Bluish blue

“I suppose I’m just shy”
I think to myself,
As I cave into myself,
Or rather fold into myself.
I look up at them.
Some I am fond of,
Such as the retired nurse,
Laugh lines creased in her face.
Others I am subtly repulsed by,
Vitriol bubbles up in me
As I observe his behavior
That I find unseemly,
Especially since vestigial emotions
Of lust
Are connected to him in my psyche.

I don’t know,
I don’t know how to feel.
That’s a funny way to put it,
Because is there a particular way a person must feel?
I wonder from where our final decisions originate from.
I wonder why I am internally perplexed,
Not satisfied.
I wonder what can help me.
I see people who also suffer
With my sense of discontent and disconnection
But their ways of dealing with it
Don’t seem to heal
Their dissatisfaction.
If anything,
These people who seek therapies
For their woes
Only seem to fall further into the pit
They had found themselves in.
The labels psychologists
So frivolously bestow onto them
Have become a ball and chain
On their identity
Causing them to fall
Down the endless void of their suffering.

I just so vividly perceive a sickness in society,
And it makes me want to jump out of my skin
I don’t know….
Because oft times I find myself
Surrounded by people
Who easily pontificate,
Stepfords who don’t
Show any sign of a spark of Life
People who religiously
Play out their learned roles
From childhood,
Until their last moment on earth,
Never really going off script,
Never really having a desire to.

Now, I feel as if it’s almost unfair
That I had to feel these ways I do,
That I can see the world for what it really is.
But when I say this,
I know in a sense I am wrong,
Because my mind is just one mind
Synthesizing my reality through the
Scope of past experiences .
But why do I have to have this orientation?
Why can’t I just live a simple-minded life,
Like before?
Why must I always be searching for truth,
Searching for the reason why we’re here,
Searching for purpose,
For a deeper meaning behind all this?
Can I just forget?
Can I just forget and go back to a simpler time?

A simpler time
When the real world
Was the only world I was truly concerned about
It’s simple, straight-forward beauties
Nourished my soul enough.
I didn’t have any pressing need to
Explore unknown realms of the esoteric.
The natural world already had so much available to explore
And discover.
I was satisfied.
I was content.

But the anxieties of youth
And the horrific pains
Of childhood abuse
Created within me an incessant need
To improve myself.
First it began with makeup.
I caked layers and layers of makeup
On my acne filled preteen face.
Then I delved into the mind altering world
Of drugs,
With an emphasis on hallucinogens
Which was just another way to escape reality.
Just a mask of concealer that I could hide away under,
As my mind’s fantasies--
Fantasies that I could manipulate at will,
Became more real than reality--
A reality that I had known primarily to be
Cold and unforgiving.
But eventually the drugs took control of me,
And fate made it so
That I had to stop.

Finally, spirituality.
The final frontier, at least for me.
The most compelling of them all.
Absolutely endless and seemingly
Without dangerous side effects (not so)
Just another delusion I bought into, it feels.
But not quite.
There isn’t yet an ending
For this segment of my life.
I’m not sure
If there will be an ending to it.
I’m trying to find a way to actualize it though,
Instead of it being
Just another extension
Of my hopeless orientation to get lost
In daydreams.
I’m attempting to call this new chapter of my life
That I am currently writing,
The “Love in Action” chapter.

Well,
That’s it, I suppose
I don’t know why I make myself do things I don’t want to do,
Which inevitably makes my mind
Disengage
But anyway,
I guess I just want to become “real” in this lifetime,
And heal,
And stop searching so much,
And go back to the innocence,
The carefreeness,
The quiet joy and contentment
Of my childhood.
American culture is such
That EVERYTHING that can be commodified
Will be commodified.
So, I have to cut myself free
From the hypnosis of capitalism,
From the ideologies of the white man
So I can be lighter,
Flow through life with more ease,
Unaffected by this world’s disease.

Where is the art of carefreeness i used to have?
Now it's even hard to breath
The pain, The suffer, and The part of me that bleed? it's me you've slained

Its my fault
To let you become my happiness, and that's
Where i turn to be piece of God's desolated creature-again.
You know all of miserable life story, I told you once
Hoping you won't be one
You know all my dreams, you were one
But seemed that you are the most apathetic one

Ripped my heart and put it on your hands
Hoping we can put some fight
But destiny decried
You opened your heart
But you never let me have the key.

Something beautiful died too soon
And i'm sitting here
command myself to surpass rapidly

Unusual Beauty

I saw him
years ago
at my local gift shop,
when I took a brief excursion
from soul-crunching work at the office.
A figurine of a black man,
falling asleep on his sofa
while watching TV.
His popcorn spilled.
Can’t remember
if he drools too…
He is not “neat.”
But there is unmistaken beauty
in his sloppiness.
A carefreeness
that warms my heart.
So relaxed.
So comfortable.
So honest.