i want to learn martial arts

i want to learn martial arts(1)

because i don’t want to be trapped. or caged. i don’t want to be broken and remade and i don’t want to be afraid. i don’t want to be yours i don’t want to be afraid. i don’t want to be made of clay and if having strong arms can make me any less of a mess than i am today i will run, and jump, and i will do whatever the hell will make me like myself more than i do right now. because i remember the empty afternoons, and all the times my mind had my tackled, and all the times it felt like you were physically inside my head because i can’t wait to forget you because you are the voice in my head. you are the voice in my head. because if the only way i can communicate with you is punches and if you want to throw punches maybe i need to learn to throw punches too. maybe i need to learn to fight because maybe i would be some kind of superhero if i could just goddamn learn to fight back. and the thoughts tumble so quickly through my mind and it’s impossible to hear it’s impossible to see, but it is there. this knot in my chest. and… i don’t know, okay? i just want to feel like i’m in charge of the monsters in my head.


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july 19th, 2019

july 19th, 2019(1)

and the stars glimmer on the horizon. we spend most of the day watching a series of unfortunate events on netlfix and discussing cults and taking turns reading each other fanfiction. on the roof. and i close my eyes. and let the air rush over me. and it’s probably not safe, which is the point, because it’s silent, and you can hear the birds, screaming, and it’s 1a.m. and i tell you to sleep but i’ll stay awake long enough for you to read the first chapter you’ve been writing all night to me, because being sleepless is different when you’re tangled up in a blanket on someone’s bedroom floor because there is no damage that cannot be undone by sleeping in until ten a.m. beside someone. and the sun rises. and i think the therapy is helping, because for the first time in a long time, i’m not afraid of being alone, and i’m not exhausted, and my head feels new again. because we’re laughing on our stomach and we’re drinking tea, and we’re cuddling cats. and i’m reading you fanfiction at 1a.m, and i don’t even think it’s helping but i do it anyway. because the words taste nice on my tongue. because for a while, i don’t feel like a bad friend. or a bad person. and my mind can’t hurt me because if you start tossing and turning in your sleep i’ll be there to battle the nightmares away. and i think i trust you to do the same for me. because i think at this point, you know a good half of me, and that’s more than most people ever see. because i think i have trust issues, but in the acoustic guitar and the dreaming crackles of your speakers, it all sort of disappears. because we’re friends. and that means we can build a little bubble of time where we can be kids for a while. and that means that for one perfect second, talking about our emotions at 1a.m., i feel like a miracle.


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and now all the flowers are dying

and now all the flowers you gave me are dying(1)

because / on the day of the performance / you gave me cut flowers / and you smiled / and you encouraged me like you always did because / i guess that’s what you do / and you said / that i did good / and it didn’t feel like i did good right then / but i think you were right / because for the first time in a long time / i wasn’t terrified and it’s the last day of school / and the flowers are dying / and i miss you is all i mean / i miss / feeling / like i would never be lost again / because now i’m just sitting here writing poetry / half-asleep / and aching / and probably totally catastrophizing / because anxiety can do that to me sometimes / make me feel like my insides are being split open sometimes / make my head wash itself to nothing only to clear everything out on these shelves and here we go all over again / here we go / and / i / slowly / fall / and on the day of the performance / i run into the bathroom / and i stare into the mirror / and i splash water on my face / and i stare into the mirror and / it’s all your fault it’s all your fault it’s all your fault / and / i can’t think and i can’t think / and it all rushes through like a flock of butterflies on their way to die / way / way / way / too quickly and / what if nothing is what i thought it would be / and / what if it’s over after this / and what if i’ll never be happy / and what if


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rainy days but on the inside

rainy days but on the inside(1)

indie acoustic mental illness. and the darkness surrounding me. and i’m so sick i’m convinced i’m not sick half the time which i guess is the problem with this. and there’s a black hole in my head and it caffeine refuses to fix it. and so do the blankets, wrapped around my shoulders like i can make a cave out of my heart if i try hard enough. like i can hide away from everything that hurts and just pretend it’s ok. just pretend it’s ok. just pretend nothing is going to hurt anymore. just pretend. because they say just pretend. because instagram poetry says just pretend. because the stress smashing through my skull says just pretend. because the advice columns and vacation culture says just laugh it off and it’ll be ok, right? maybe? and sometimes i wonder if i really even have anxiety. even though i know i have anxiety. because some days i’m all right. because maybe i’m recovering, but i also feel like i’m just lying. and i also don’t know who i am without my mental illness and i know it’s probably not like it seems like it is. but the lady at the corner says you can’t sell sad poetry and i wonder if she’s right. i wonder if she’s right that it’s better. to just laugh it off and pretend it’s all right even though i know perfectly well she’s wrong. but i don’t know how to give you my heart without being afraid because honestly, i am one massive ticking time bomb, and if i can hurt myself this much maybe i am just one massive grenade waiting to go off. because the masks flicker. and change. and change, and change, and there are new expectations all over again. and if you romanticize never sleeping and spending days that feel longer than days feeling empty it’ll all be ok. it’ll be fine. i mean, whatever, right?


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i want to get a haircut

i want cut my hair short because i’m wearing high heels at school today and it kind of hurts but it kind of makes me feel like i could kick someone in the face but in the innocent kind of way.  i want to cut my hair short so it won’t hang by my ears anymore, because i know it’s unconventional and that’s kind of the whole point of it. i want to cut my hair short because just for once i want to toss aside the deadweight of their expectations. i want to do something even though others wouldn’t get it. i want to do cut my hair short because it makes me smile. i want to cut my hair short, because this is the first happy poem i’ve written in a while and it doesn’t matter if you don’t like how i look, because for the first time i feel almost. in. control. i want to cut my hair, because i want to be more than what anyone else expected of me. i want to be more than anyone else thought i could be. i want to cut my hair short, because i guess i just thought that maybe if i could cast away everything i used to be i could be the person i want to be, and if a haircut can make me feel happy for a moment, i’ll take it. i’ll take anything you have to give me.


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