The yellow, early evening sun feels heavy and warm on my legs.
Like a cat curled up to enjoy a small nap,
It rests on my pink and rainbow blanket.
My mother snores in the old blue chair next to me,
******* in worry and exhaustion and the scent of basil,
Oblivious to the small-town sounds of birds and cars and children playing,
Unaware that her daughter is something she claims to not understand.

"Pansexuality, honestly, just sounds
Horrible,"
She had told me.
"I don't understand pansexuality and gender-fluid and stuff,"
She said,
The car sliding smoothly over the highway under grey skies.
I tried to explain, but I was swamped in
Confusion.
"Well...there are more than two genders, like being gender-fluid and agendered and bi-gendered and third-gendered......
And pansexual people like all of those genders."
"That's what I can't understand. I mean, I kinda get the concept, but..." Her voice trails away like blue cigarette smoke, still deadly even after it has dissipated into the clouds.
I feel like I'm choking on it, raw pink lungs tightening and swelling, forcing yellow stars before my eyes,
Not able to explain the way
I don't care what you identify as,
I only care about love.
My mother's grandmother didn't know that non-straight people existed.
My mother's mother didn't know that bisexual people existed.
My mother doesn't believe that more than two genders exist,
Or know that I find all of them attractive.
But she had already dropped the subject,
Instead filling the awkward lull with discussions of
Colleges and books she's reading and and what my younger sister is doing in school.
I could feel my soul bubbling up behind my lips,
Pink and yellow and blue,
I wanted to tell her to stop and listen.
I wanted to tell her to be quiet,
And to be accepting,
And to try to understand.
I wanted to tell her
'I'm pansexual.
There.
Now you know.
Would you have said that it was horrible and that you can't understand?
That, in essence, I am horrible and you can't understand me?'
But I didn't.
I sat, the warm sticky grey leather under my thighs
The same as the warm, sticky grey clouds,
The yellow sun just peeking out into blue skies beyond the pale pink dogwoods.

She wakes up, warm sticky breath catching in her chest
As she opens her eyes.
She mumbles quietly about oversleeping
Before she rushes out the door,
Leaving behind a daughter
She thinks she knows,
As she claims to not understand
My label
That I have hidden inside my closet door,
Next to my pink, yellow, blue scarves.
Maybe tomorrow I'll put it on,
Pin my heart to my sleeve,
Wear my colors proudly.
But not today.  
Never today.

I want to be a daily dragon soaring in the sky, but i'm just a night owl hiding in the trees.


(wrote this when i barely ate and was in bed all day.mood has changed since i ate and got out of bed for a little while.)


I like my eggs to have a scramble and this just may be another rambunctious ramble but I need to have a shout out to the big D, my deep repression, also known as Depression.
Strictly glued to my bed, lying here with the sheets perched upon my chest, head propped up against two flaccid pillows, full bladder, the pressure, need to release but can't bring myself in an upward position. Munching on my homemade granola&pretzel; trail-mix, having absolutely no desire, nor energy to feed my insides, to bring fresh water to touch my lips, to nourish my body, mind, and spirit.
Staring at my furry feline, his eyes closed, tummy up in full view for a rubbing, four legs extended in every direction, so-so innocent.
Life is just too **** awfully precious to be drowning in this dark, deep, and dull dirt hole, right? Do you agree? Don't agree because I drastically disagree and don't have the energy to beg to differ.
Life is too good, life is mtoo short, yada...yada...yada.. that is what 'they' all say. Well, most of 'them' say that. I say 'them' in half quotations because by 'them', I mean.... the ones that were instantly born with or found the Huge H.
Y'know, Happiness.
No motivation to do life's less complicated things,
No words to speak, mind blank and still.
Hardly any breath to let out, the brain fog-memory loss.
The hopelessness, the fatigue, the deep repression.
This is a tough state, you struggle and don't know why you're suddenly incapable of doing things you want to do, enjoying things you want to enjoy, you feel like you've lost yourself, you don't know what you want anymore, crisis.
Don't want anyone's help, don't want anyone's sympathy, don't want anything. N O T H I N G.
Feeling paralyzed, crippled, but you feel terrible and guilty even trying to compare yourself to the handicapped. How could you do such a thing? That is just simply how you feel that you feel.
Others will gawk at you and give you advice, which mostly makes matters much worse...
When inside, you're subconsciously and slightly consciously aware that you've been fighting this battle for years on end.... since you slipped out of your mothers womb and took your first breath of this polluted air.
You instantly found ways to cope, ways to protect yourself, smiles to hide away the tears, the pain, the numbness,
Hiding the painful pity, dissociation to hide the mind and all the other types of abuse. your learning disability, your inability to focus, to stay on task, to finish a task, to complete, to have drive, to succeed,
The lack of love, lack of attention, of family, of a mother, of a father, of teachers, your lack of support, guidance, your loneliness, your negative self image, your childhood abandonment, the scars, the lies, the promiscuity, the mood swings, the suicidal thoughts, the confusion, turmoil. So much more, so much baggage, so much past...
                    LEAVE THE PAST IN THE PAST.... it's just that simple!
Memories and flashbacks flooding your mind leaves you debilitated.
All of those awesome e-mails you receive, the people who want to be a part of your life who you push away and won't let in, the barrier - the wall.
The beauty you were born with, your 5 senses and health, these things do not matter in this deep repression. Nothing matters as nothing is what you confide it, it is your comfort, it is your company.



"This is what you have, you have it all, you're beautiful, you're this, you're that.." so 'they' say, but little do 'they' know.. 'they' will say they have been there before, they will say they understand, but do they really?


Medication will Mask the Mundane.


Oh, it's so unbelievable how much the outer appearance can really show.
The book's front cover.
The stories that lie inside each and every page are so much deeper that what you may perceive by observing the Title (Gina) and the design or picture, the nice face and the nice ****&***.;


Ingested so many supplements, vitamins, herbs, teas, water, exercising consistently and constantly, staying fit, so fresh and so clean, so well kept, being somewhat calm, cool, and collected...when underneath it all was a ball of blues, a mess of stress, a dungeon of self-destruction, a child reaching out, a pretty polite pessimist princess.


Oversleeping, malnourishment, Pre-Menstrual Symptoms, ADHD are the leading cause to my ranting today. Unable to fully explain and go into more depth about what all of the above means, I close my eyes and will try and muster up enough strength to organize and get back to this blog post when I awaken.


Getting a physical check-up along with blood work soon to see if there is an underlying cause to my fatigue lately....


All I can do is.... lay here, mindless, and...
w
a
i
t
.

Lisa and I were watching one of our favorite series last night, a Japanese manga called “The Way of the Househusband” and I could barely keep my eyes open. I went to bed at a decent hour (11:30) but when I got in bed, I couldn’t sleep, I just laid there. It was rude and caused me to oversleep.

I don’t mean to brag, but I can go from oversleeping, to bushed and showered in less than 15 minutes, I’m really a marvel of efficiency (with still wet hair), especially since we wear scrubs.
I grabbed my iPad, stuffed it in my rucksack, and hey, I was ready to go.

In the living room, it took me a moment to situate myself - it was a very noisy and disorienting environment - what with Lisa yelling at me for running late, but soon we were off.

Just a girl, her lemon ginger Kombucha, and her angry roommate, ready to face the world.

We stepped out into the morning and.. Ughh! I’d forgotten my AirPods. I double checked, not there.
Lisa gives me a threatening look. “PLEASE,” I begged, desperately, “MY AIRPODS!”
“OH, my GOD!” Lisa said, glancing, irritatedly at the Apple Watch I gave her for her birthday.

I ran up the stairs and was back in NO time, really, really ready to go.
Just a girl, her Kombucha, AirPods and angrier roommate, ready to face the world.

My sister’s apartment is about 7 walking minutes from the hospital. As we were walking, I had my AirPods in and was rolling with Kanye. I in NO way endorse his CrAzY. But If I start the day out, with “Through the Wire” and “Jesus walks,” I’m tweaked for whatever gamut Rebecca (my surgeon) has in store for me. I paused the slaps, momentarily, as we passed a herd of boys, but I was bouncing again in a blink.

Lisa and I are in the second week of our two-month, summer fellowships - shadowing surgeons (different surgeons) for “clinical experience.” The first thing I do every workday morning is bring Rebecca a large coffee (from the cafeteria). She comes in at 5:30am every morning of the week and leaves God-knows-when - certainly, well after we do at 4:30pm.

She spends the three hours before I come in, reviewing patient notes and surgical plans. I gently rapped on her open door. She doesn’t look up, but she knows it’s me.
“Good morning,” I whisper, Rebecca’s seated at her desk, working on her laptop. I set the coffee on her right side and after I remove the pre-existing empty cups, I hesitate.

“What’s up,” she says, leaning into her screen to check something as she keys to enlarge it.
“I have a small question,” I say, “Are we supposed to be filling out timecards?” She doesn’t say anything, continuing to examine the - whatever. After a few seconds, I added:
“Quinn said we have to fill out timecards.”

“Did he?” Rebacca asked, rhetorically, after a bit. She’d stopped studying the screen and gotten a faraway look. Then, after another moment, she said, “Well, bless his heart,” which made me chuckle, because we’re both southern girls and that’s shorthand for “f**k him.”

“Thank you.” she says (for the coffee). I’d been dismissed.
We have rounds in twenty minutes.

Starbuck napkins and depressing one liners and my hands are shaking and my nerves are on edge and it feels like Thursday is never going to get here and I can't sleep until I find myself oversleeping and it's two hours past the time I had somewhere to be and another day has slipped past before I could take a breath and find any kind of calm and it's  a day closer to Thursday but Thursday still feels like it's never going to get here and my coffee has gone cold and my hands are busy shaking out depressing one liners on a pile of Starbucks napkins...

Oversleeping in the morning
Talk about False Alarm

loving you was kind of like oversleeping.
quiet and so, so loud
when i opened up my eyes.
i spend all my time running late,
shaking the daydreams out of my head.
something about you
reminded me of all times i just wanted to sleep the year away,
wake up next september and have everything be okay,
and how glad i was i stayed awake for july,
a few months past my bedtime.
it’s the line running on repeat in the cracks of my brain,
there’s a symphony in here playing, it’ll never be the same.
looks like the conductor called in sick,
so it’s like some ill-conceived medley
of tchaikovsky and biggie
and if you don’t know now you know
to the backing music to the nutcracker.
every book i’ve read and every movie i’ve ever fell asleep to
are so tangled up that i can’t make out the lines
i actually wrote underneath them.
what i’m trying to say is that it’s all cymbal crashes in here
and i’ve run out of metaphors, i fear  
that i can’t seem to say anything at all right now,
i am writer’s block at 3 o’clock
and the afternoon has no right to feel 2 AM like this.
i used to think loneliness only happened
when it was the middle of night and i was wondering why
i couldn’t seem to take up all the space in a twin bed on my own,
or when i was in the middle of crowd
and i kept catching myself searching for someone who just... isn’t there.
and this poem has been in process
in the back of my head for a long time,
for about as long as i’ve known you.
i keep adding lines and crossing them back out,  
i keep opening my mouth and sewing it back shut.
you see, it’s very… crowded in my head,
often i feel like i’m exceeding capacity.
like a thousand word per minute,
like a thousand poems and i could never finish it,
i guess that’s is why i “write like i’m running out of time”
i guess that’s why when i perform i speak so fast
my words get caught and my tongue gets tangled,
i’m stuck looking for new angles,
i haven’t met a cliche i haven’t mangled --
what i’m trying to say is
that there’s a lot of ******* going on in here
and you make it all go…
quiet.
and don’t get me wrong,
i love myself, in the way you’ve got to love yourself
when you don’t really always like yourself.
but still, i spend a lot time wishing i had a better handle on myself.
wishing i could press pause
just to give me enough time unscramble myself,
wishing that i was less;
less difficult, less rough, less soft, less messy.
because sometimes i feel so ******' chaotic
and you...
you make everything stop for just a second.
you make everything about me feel okay.
and now, i don’t know about god
but i believe in love and i believe in poetry.
now, i’m not much for destiny
but i believe in the way you sometimes look at me.
to put it simply, you make me want to write poems
about weezer and way you smile.
simple stuff. good stuff.
and i like you because you never pretended
that you were too cool to know the words,
our lips moving just the same.
because we are stumbling, tumbling through life
and i want to spend mine with people
who aren’t so ******* scared of admitting that.
because i measure my heartbeat in drumbeats,
in what’s pouring through my headphones,
and the fact that you get that makes me feel so much less alone.
all the chords/cords tangled like our hearts on the floor,
i’m not going to write you love song, baby,
i’m going to write you an anthem.
because you and i, we we're composed to same notes.
and i could find a lot of ways to phrase this --
we’re made of the same stuff, stardust, kindred spirits
or something like that;
because i’m so good at words,
but my words aren’t near good enough to find a way to say
that you are the space between silence and noise,
where my heart goes to rest.

evening talks
into morning
walks home
stronger alone

his bones are the needles
that ***** ink into my skin
I can't begin to fathom
the nerve stinging print
that sends me ringing
in my collar bones,
which ache from oversleeping,
can't see anyone today
I'm too busy dreaming.

What if I went out every night
& kept my phone on silent
so that every time you called
it would keep ringing & ringing
until my annoying voicemail
flooded your ears over & over
about three dozen times or more

Call again

What if I said I had too much going on
& that my grandparents or father
needed my assistance for something
far more important than wasting
any of my time on you or your family
even though plans were nonexistent

Try again

What if I was late to school almost
two times a week because I knew
I could get away with sneaking to
her house while you woke your
mom up so that she could take you
to school because I was "oversleeping"

Late again

What if I held your hand everyday
down the hallways of this hell hole
& kissed you goodbye before each
& every bell, but found my seat
next to her in the back of the room
where no one would suspect a thing

Goodbye again

What if you started to notice that
I was slowly starting to fade away
& thought I was talking with her
& I yelled at you for accusing me
& thinking I was untrustworthy
& maybe I forgot the real truth myself

Yell again

What if I got caught in her bed
one early morning by her father
& he called & told my mother
& she threatened to kick me out
if I didn't tell you so I lied again
& promised that I had told you,
but I wasn't telling you anything

Lie again

What if someone else told you
& I ran out of lies to tell you,
but I still continued with my streak
& tried lying my way out of losing you,
but you were done with my *******

Done again

What if she wasn't my only lover on the side
What if I had lost count of all of them
What if I promised to change
What if

*You can't

by his friends
my uncle was known
as uncle
****
because he curled the word
as if his mouth
came before it
and waited.

he took me to a meeting once
because he wanted me to have
real coffee.

he winked as if to say
I know a paper cup
when I hold
a paper
cup.

he said as if to say
*******
it’s not like you’re watching
someone else
live your life
it’s like you’re someone else
not helping.

uncle **** didn’t believe in oversleeping.  
he believed in making a blindfold
for the blind.

I was at my best
letting him think
he gave me
my first
cigarette.

everything you’ve heard was read by me.

Another night of overthinking,
unable to sleep with all the sinking
into the darkness fuelled thoughts that cloud my mind -
the mistakes of the past I cannot leave behind.

Another morning of oversleeping - so free,
desperate for the temporary state of nihility,
wanting to remain safe from the world around me,
just call me a reality escapee.

lying
sneaking
starting fights
hiding bruises
crying silently
oversleeping
overeating
starving myself
hurting myself
hurting the people i love

“I wanted to be happy”
The words crept from my lips like scurrying little spiders when their home disturbed amongst darkened cobwebs in an untouched dingy room
Intrusive thoughts
Dismaying salvation of pathologized compliance
Masking behaviour for acceptance
“Stop spinning in that chair- it’s annoying”
Self expression became punishable
Dismaying youth- retribution beyond reasonable understanding
Belted and crying
Please stop, it hurts
Fearful avoidance
Nothing feels safe
Transmitting adulthood with repressed memories though awakened by medical emergency of your cat
Navigating uncertainty since July; desperately attempting to understand inner workings of trauma brain
Complex post traumatic stress disorder
Medical diagnosis though intrusive thoughts still catastrophic
Chronic pain with desolation
Desperately craving the touch of another human
Covid times; worsening depression combatting betraying myself with fathers abusive words while unproductively masquerading oversleeping
Powerlifting self regulation though collapsing under the bar.
If they wanted to talk to you
They would make effort
Though I still fawn my way to self acceptance
After all;
That’s what my parents taught me to do.

“I wanted to be happy,”
The words crept from my lips like scurrying little spiders when their home.
Disturbed amongst darkened cobwebs in an untouched dingy room.
Intrusive thoughts-
Dismaying salvation of apathologized compliance.

Masking behaviour for acceptance.
“Stop spinning in that chair- it’s annoying”
Self expression became punishable,
dismaying youth- retribution beyond reasonable understanding.
Belted and crying,
“Please stop, it hurts.”
Fearful avoidance-
Nothing feels safe.

Transmitting adulthood with repressed memories though awakened by medical emergency of your cat.
Navigating uncertainty since July; desperately attempting to understand inner workings of trauma brain.
Complex post traumatic stress disorder.

Medical diagnosis though intrusive thoughts still catastrophic.
Chronic pain with desolation-
Desperately craving the touch of another human.

Covid times; worsening depression, combatting betraying myself with fathers abusive words while unproductively masquerading oversleeping.
Powerlifting self regulation,
though collapsing under the bar.
If they wanted to talk to you,
they would make effort.

Though I still fawn my way to self acceptance.
After all;
That’s what my parents taught me to do.
©rhetoricalcuriosity

i miss the days
of being alone
in the house by myself
and i didn't have to hide
my feelings
and i could cry
in each corner of the house
and i would try
to occupy myself
with frantic cleaning,
horrible singing,
expressive dancing,
and absent writing
and the way i could
get myself high
just being all over the place
or sometimes
oversleeping at
one place
because i didn't want
to think
but now,
it feels like
i can't be me
when i need to be.

so please
just leave me alone

I'm tired
I'm tired
I'm so tired.
It's a violent tiredness
That pulls my whole body
Toward the center of the earth
With such complete force
That I can't even take my jacket off.
I go to bed earlier, thinking I'll get more sleep
And I'll feel better.
But my body treats me poorly.
I wake up feeling even more shaky and drained
And weak
Than the day before.
I get less sleep, thinking oversleeping may have been the problem.
By midday I'm swimming in my own lethargy
Drowning in this lack of energy
Absorbed in this painful fight to stay awake.
I do everything right
But my body ignores me.
Every day is the same.
I'm tired.
I'm so tired.

under the lost perch dreams are dying  
birds crashing without batting a wing
fungus growing in circular rings
the thud of tiny footsteps hoping for a better day
innocence just wanting to play
sun tired ending its shift early moon oversleeping day and night cry
oreo black across the sky
nightfall crashing left and right
neighborhoods acres of no light
courts closed due to the dark
***** stop bouncing lost in the park
darkness now spread from zero to one the end of light has just begun

you and he/him are different people *

consumed in perpetual darkness
deep down i feel i’ll always be heartless
you’re like the cut to my throat and
your words are the poison infecting my soul
you are the veil blinding me and
your presence is the thick pain coursing through my veins until i become too weak to stabilize myself
lies freeze on the brim of your lips
still windless breath
remembering broken promises with burning eyes
consciousness does make for poor windows

but every time i saw him its like he was shining
so blinding
the hands of october, gray and wide
the autumn moon had tipped and spilled the contents of my being
but every time i thought of him it's like i could
reach up and cut off the edges of stars and
repair now-open scars and
wrench off the bars that hold people captive
time inevitably passes and i stand here alone
i want to scream the words that can't ever seem to escape my mouth
with a gasp of air i want to release myself from a dream that never ceases
mindless and doubt-ridden
i follow my thoughts around like an ellipsis at the end of a sentence
i trail after them into that deep place i can't even describe anymore
a place where i can't even breathe anymore

when i think of beautiful things, he comes to mind
i remember conversations that never happened
oversleeping on the bed of my lungs
i wanted to rip off the muzzle on his face that bore silence and
lead him from the grin of eternity
i could’ve whispered him out of star dust
against the twilight and set him free
and i made a mistake while my heart was breaking
i wanted everything to be perfect
and nothing can be perfect
i watched his eyes walk away and i couldnt even see him
i ache inside while i wait for a breath to take

i feel guilt like the blind wolf with
foggy, restless breath
and you can only imagine it's imploring eyes
what will i do when your body gives up to the grave?
and when i’m still afraid of what comes tomorrow

invisible hands caress my face
fingers curling around my thoughts and nesting unthinkables
why do i exist?
to just listen to your commands and demands?
am i supposed to choke down your venom with a glass of water?
your escaped worlds and flesh’s rage
sometimes i feel you’re exacted by your faith
maybe you were born to live in the sky
floating through timeless winds without ever
a single good-bye
i fall down stairs that are nothing but air
the sun falls under the horizon
just like your soul

the architecture of my thinking leads me to him
i miss his smile and the cool hand that encircles mine
i need him to split me open and dig inside and grasp my heart
i need him to know the thoughts i hide
he held my heart like the barren serenity of the desert
i drown in memories of him
i lie gently on the cold, dark earth
knowing i’ll have to crawl home
the moon rises --
the glorious lamp of night skies

he’ll rest in soft peace
with all the words
i never got around to say
i breathe in a breath of life
i hear sad, endless rain through the thick dark

it’s yours.

It's 3am and you are up. Not just up but seated, playing. And you are smiling with your eyes wide open. Not to me, you already know that I'm in no smiling mood. To be precise, I'm teary and grumpy.

It has been several tries and I've given up. Several of those moments where  you begin crying once your body hits the mattress. I don't know how you do it, seconds ago you were sound asleep in my arms.

I've managed an hour or two of sleep. That was after three hours of those episodes. The ones with ten or twenty minutes intervals, between my achievement of putting you to sleep and something else deciding you should wake up. It's not your fault, you can't control anything anyway.

Soon you'll be yawning and dozing off. And of course crying to be put to sleep. Then we'll start again. That is, until the **** decides that it's 3am and he needs to do his job. And his brothers need to crow too. Before I know it, it'll be daylight, and grandma will always be there to accuse mama of oversleeping

Okay, let's start from the beginning and see what happens.
uh, I was born January 31st, 2000. That makes me an iGen or Gen Z.
What that has to do with who I am, I have no idea.
I've been told that my spirit animal is a Magpie.
It's unknown to me how that defines my personality
as I have never really let anyone enter into the threshold of my life,
for when I let them, they are there just to wipe their feet on my welcome mat and hurry off to someplace more important.

My list of hobbies include oversleeping, drinking more than eating, having philosophical existential conversations with the voices in my head, stargazing on the ground, and always reminding myself that I have overstayed my welcome. I love music when I cannot play an instrument, rewatching the same shows and animes because I know the endings and can skip to my favorite parts.

I love smoothies, blueberries, pomegranates, and black licorice. Like, a lot. I can't stand the existence of styrofoam, embarrassing comedy, and  country and rap music that has no meaning. I hate when media that portrays light of serious topics, the fact I will never fully believe in myself, and that bad things happen to the best of people, and I hate that I can't trust others.

I'm scared of four things: heights, medicine, myself -especially behind closed doors-, and being happy. I've learned not to be afraid of the unknown, because life without uncertainty, is also uncertain so why try to avoid it? Being afraid is wanting to travel the galaxy but never leaving your doorstep.

I'd say I’m a hopeless romantic that doesn't know how to be romantic. Moreover, I am waiting to fall in love. I am not exactly waiting to be in love as that comes with hardships, disagreements, breakups, the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, but that's just me being pessimistic, knowing that no one will want to love me in that way.  

I genuinely believe I will never find love as I fear happiness. I fear the other shoe dropping, the plot twist that comes with my series of unfortunate events, and I suppose that is why I ruin every  relationship I've been in. I sabotage every possibility by not saying enough, by lying about myself, taking actions too far and turning myself into my inner demons in order to avoid the pity and shame by being the scapegoat.

But I’m waiting for the fall, the moment I look into a girl's eyes and be completely vulnerable, knowing that she is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. To understand the secret of happiness on a park bench with Sean Maguire.

I suppose that's why I am terrified of heights, but still wish to go skydiving. Not for reasons most people do it. But for the Fate of it, to see the world from a distance and for that moment to relinquish all my inhibitions and just... live, per chance to be. That's why its called falling I suppose, because when you fall, everything you are thinking of vanishes and it is just that moment of falling with nothing you can do. To have the die cast. No scrambling for any purchase or refuge to save you. Or that's how I imagine it.

I'd say I'm a sucker for a girl with a cute smile, curly hair, and a laugh that makes me weak-kneed. I don't know what love is exactly but would love to give it a shot, to end up loving something more than myself, which with all things being, it’s not that much to begin with. I am oblivious to any kind of flirtation that doesn't have the specific words "I'm into you" in it, and I have no clue how to ask a girl out on a date because the girls I have crushes on don't even know I exist.

I'm an audiophile, meaning I like sounds, like a nice breeze though a grove, the roar of a waterfall and even silence, but I can't handle the sound of people. I'm a self-diagnosed sociopath because I've watched death walk away without shedding a tear. I am broken beyond fragments and avoid therapists with my life. I believe I will never find love because you first have to love yourself enough.

I am nobody's "person". I'm the student at the back of the class with the only time their name is spoken of is roll call. I get surprised by notifications, compliments, and the sound of my name telegraphing through the air. For this, I have trust issues, because hearing my name on the top of another's tongue is a symbol of necessity, a god-like power of convenience. And I know that if I disappeared tomorrow, very few to none would miss me as I explore into the unknown and I know I would then have more friends there than I do now.

I have the number 1-800-273-8255 imprinted on my hippocampus and the constant urge to explore sky at terminal velocity. I'm a botched suicide attempt wrapped in scars of doubt, insecurity and self hate, crippled from speaking by a nation who raised me by the terms equal to that of "grow a pair", "get over it", and "men don't cry"

I have a fear of being healthy from medicine, from the memory of a handful of pills, the euphoria to have all pain stripped away, the memory of being the ghost in just another machine, the definition of the words "Let Go." said by 7 demons canonized as opioids, being found by the man in black I met at the cross roads of rock bottom and a 17 story ledge asking where my father's hydrocodone went. And I, wanting to, with every tear stained fault lines, with every choked cry, with every false answer to the question "Are you okay?", to tell the truth rather than blaming my brother's drug addict friends needing their high.

I have a mentality fueled by spite and because of it, a versatile perspective. I know the moment I feel happy, the other shoe will drop. Just let me show you the collar choking my neck and the leash carried by hope, hanging me in a tree in front of a lynch mob of flowers bouquets and second dates. I never wish upon others of the things I've seen for they would lack the tolerance void of compassion and happenstance, to know how to try your best always, yet never be good enough in their own eyes.  

Hi. My name is Jon, not spelled with a H.
I love listening windows down to loud music, exploring odd thrift shops, laughing until my lungs hurt, and watching sunsets.
I don't talk about myself as much as I should and I don't like my own smile. I lie without knowing the truth and have light speed thoughts, but never enough courage to voice 'em.
I like being alone, but I don't like being lonely.
I believe that there is a God out there and I know he/she/they/it is rooting for me because nobody is going to live my life for me, so I might as well live it for myself.

Sweet Caroline

Your eyes gleam a story so untold by things that have evoked you to begin a lunar eclipse to see the shattered epitome of what they want to see

Your life has been theirs for a while, Nevertheless, you left the stage with no remorse for mistakes that were made during the scene

The secrets have consumed you and your true intentions of being a beautiful butterfly.

Tattooed on your body for the resemblance of your journey of growing out of their murmurs and hypocrisy.

Your lips tell me an intense ****** thought as your pretty little smile meets your soul and eyes at once.

How could you ever turn her down

A good girl with a good identity but a creature roaring of a silenced seductive innocence.

She feels so good

Never does she have to speak and you can still feel her eyes reaching for your soul.

The urge to grab her by the waist and tell her pretty little heart that she can rest assured
that her beautiful persona has bloomed into what's been hiding beneath her surface of swallowed emotions and risks.

She walks with freedom as she allows her feet to walk alone with no one over her shoulders
anymore.

When she wakes up she feels the anxiety of oversleeping from the terrors that chase her mind to exhaustion and trauma.

Why is it that we become addicted to a quiet being that walks with a broad spectrum of genuine expressions?

When you smile at me I feel the way your words walk up to your brain only to not speak on them but to roll your eyes to show the way you feel.

I hear you when you don’t speak I see you when you wish not to be seen.

Wander down something you’re afraid of but don’t want to be afraid of, meet me there.

You’re as soft as your impression.

Ocean eyes make me ponder on your adversities not spoken on

Addicted, not obsessed, addicted, now as I reassess your quietness I shall find your soft hands that I’ve not felt but only in my dreams.

Meet me on the 11th floor of your biggest secret and tell me if your heart is still healing from the carrier who consumed you and watched you walk.

Tell me if those hands are something you regret running into when you couldn’t sleep.

The absence of what could’ve been makes us crave discomfort and unforgivingness.

Show the world your heart is free and not abused though the memories you used to have led you to believe you couldn’t be you without reassurance and continuity.

My darling my fingertips wish to explore your soul and give you a home.

Oh, sweet Caroline.
Come home.

Darling, please
Don't let him
Drag you down

Down into
This dull pit
Full of
Oversleeping
Unmotiviation
Boredom
Negative thoughts
And loneliness

Please
Don't let him
Do this to you

Each day
Bleeds into another
With no highlights
Only time filled

Look to yourself
Take a deep breath
Find your determination
And your strength
Tell him no

You've sat back
And dealt with
His nonsense
Long enough

Show him
The door.

l.v.s