overcast

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my head is like an overcast day. as in, the edges of the panic. slowly, slowly, slowly creeping in just like the fog is. as in, i can breathe, but only by a little bit. my head is an overcast day. like… self-sabotaging and not sleeping at very reasonable times today. my head is an overcast day, and i will bury myself in the blankets again. and i will try and fall into the nothingness again. and some days i think i am broken and some days i actually am and it’s never as bad as it seems in reality, but that might just be the painkiller kicking in anyway. anyway. my head is like an overcast day because i’m underslept and i feel like shit, but for some twisted reason i keep on going anyway. and my head is spinning, and spinning, and spinning. and i don’t know. what’s happening. and i don’t know why this is happening. except i do. i know that i’ve been tearing myself apart from the inside for a long time, and that most days i don’t even feel like stopping. i know that i write and i write and i write and then i bury myself under the blankets and try my hardest to keep hiding. i know everything is changing. and i know, i know, i know. and please don’t come up to me. don’t make me say hello. don’t ask me anything because whatever you want to say i don’t fucking know.


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promise

Add a heading(1)promise myself i’ll practice. as in, promise myself i’ll stitch my broken heartstrings back together and make them into something like a tapestry. something coherent. something that will make others marvel at its beauty.  promise myself i’ll do this. promise i’ll get to it tomorrow. because i need to get to it tomorrow. because i need to stop being afraid by tomorrow, because by tomorrow, everything will have changed but god, did you think anyone would care about what it’s like inside your echoing bombshell of a brain? because there are people who have it worse than i do, and maybe i am just another piece of shrapnel cast away from the scene of the crime. promise myself i’ll fight. promise myself tomorrow i’ll wake up and i will climb up from the abyss and i will pretend to be all right. but i will not be all right. i will not know what i mean anymore when i write poetry because i know that it’s something but i’m not sure what it is. and i guess i’m still a little scared of letting this feeling out when i’m not sure what this monster even is, but it’s mine, and doesn’t that mean it’s my responsibility to make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone other than myself this time? and i’m not sure what’s true and what’s just my head. but i’m afraid to look at myself in the mirror because i can’t stand the fact that i still can’t fix my head. that i’m still the kind of client my therapist has to convince their life is worth it. that i’m the kid, curled up in the back of the class, getting perfect grades. faking a smile. pretending they understand the better half of this. pretending they’re all right. pretending they’re all right because if i tell you, i’ll have to tell myself too. and i’m standing at the edge and i know someday, i’m going to do this. someday, i’m going to become everything i thought i never could be and i’m going to make something from the ashes. i’m just scared it won’t be beautiful.


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imagine i am panicking

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imagine i am panicking. imagine i am standing in an empty classroom. imagine i am lying still paralyzed reeling on the ground. imagine the ocean is rushing over me. imagine every wave is a tsunami. and on the inside, i am drowning. yes. i can talk through it. but the words are a sticky spiderweb in my throat ok it’s hard to explain exactly. but i swear it is there and it will continue to be. tears, like magma spilling over the edges of my cheeks, leaving only the burnt husks of a personality. now imagine that i’m drowning. imagine that i can’t even see the bottom but i know i can feel myself sinking. i’m trying to breathe, but at this point it seems easier to just ride out the feeling. imagine i am scrubbing my skin clean, and clean, and clean because all the imperfections suddenly highlight themselves and the whole world disgusts me. every day there’s a rock concert in my mind and anxiety is a smoke alarm and i’ve cried wolf on myself way too many times. and i am just sort of standing there, and the music of my thoughts seems to jerk my heartbeat out of my chest. like life is a test, and i do not want to study for it because if i do not study for it, it won’t exist. imagine, that there is blackness, rising up from the ground to meet me. and suddenly everything is too much for me. imagine i am standing before a crowd of people only i can’t breathe, and i can’t think. why i am like this why am i so fucked up why am i a ticking time bomb waiting to go off why am i a collision of wrecked pieces my mind pouncing on every open wound every stressful situation ingraining itself into my skin and why is it so difficult to breathe. imagine i am a star, glowing on the edge of the horizon, and everything is kind of messy and kind of complicated. imagine everything feels like too much and i wish to flick off my mind like a lightswitch and i listen to dreamy music and it makes me feel a little more alive and i have held my own hand a thousand fucking times and considered pulling myself back off the edge but i didn’t do any of that because i am under siege by a monster and i do nothing to stop it. i am under siege by a monster and i want to tell you all the ways you’re beautiful but how can i tell you you’re beautiful when i can’t say it to myself and mean it? and how can i tell you to let go when i can’t even let go because i see cliffs in the flatlines of my heartbeat as i drift slowly, slowly, slowly to sleep and i’m not gonna check because i’m tired of it always being sometime after midnight. i’m tired of how i cannot find okays even in the starlight. i’m constantly falling, and sometimes i imagine that the sky is, too, because it makes me feel less lonely. and i know i should apologize for all the things i’ve called myself. but… right now, i don’t want to.


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i’m drinking coffee again

Copy im drinking coffee again.jpgi’m drinking coffee again and i know that doesn’t sound like a big deal but it feels like it to me because other people can somehow function this way but it’s not like that for me. i haven’t been sleeping great of late and am i about to lose my self-control is this what kills me? because it feels that way right now. as the sky smudges itself black and white and i’m still having trouble thinking clearly. as my thoughts distort and bend like beams of light. i’m drinking coffee again even though i know it’s not good for me and i want to laugh it off because normal people laugh it off and that doesn’t feel like a good sign because that’s exactly the way it used to be. i’m drinking coffee again just because the world told me it was all right but it doesn’t feel all right it feels like throwing up but on the inside. but hey at least i feel alive. but hey at least i can keep functioning on nothing even though the smoke alarm is wailing but i’m numb and maybe i’m dissociating so i don’t actually hear anything. and i don’t really feel like editing because the broken limbs collide into themselves and i don’t know how to tell you how i feel because how i feel is shaped by what i want myself to feel and because how i feel is crammed into not having enough time to deal with it because there is never enough time to deal with it. i’m drinking coffee again, and my poems are eroding and i don’t know how to tell you hopeful things when i don’t feel them and it’s not that i don’t love you it’s that i can’t tell you that until i love myself but i can’t love myself so what am i supposed to tell you when you fall apart in my arms? i’m bandaging up my fingers so i can’t hurt even a small part of myself anymore. and i’m scared i’m just lying to myself because isn’t it all just in my head? because isn’t this all just something happening so. far. away? because my head is a runaway train. and i know i’m in control but i don’t even know how to fix this. don’t know which glue will finally work for all my broken pieces. and maybe i’m just tired right now of fighting this. tired of every day being another train wreck. tired of always feeling like this. so i close my eyes. and i brace for the impact. and i put on a helmet. and soon it’ll be over. and as long as other like the fractal spirals of my tears, it probably doesn’t matter–


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lavender – a poem

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empty aching silence and i’m shivering in the winter of your heart. because time exists. because the cold echoes through the wind and the whole landscape is empty. empty. empty. like your eyes in the mornings and if i could just feel nothing for a while. if my body could stop falling apart like an out of order factory. if my mind could make sense independent of me that would be nice. i’m not saying it’s going to happen i’m just saying i wish it could be easier sometimes. wish i could just pop a pill and then my tired eyes could shift into focus and suddenly everything would make sense and by that i mean everything would be all right.  lavender baths and midnight writing sessions and maybe this is. enough. to fix myself. to make everything stop falling apart because i’ve never been a healthy person, i’ve just been really good at looking like one. because i don’t know who i am if i’m not working. i don’t know who i am if my head isn’t submerged and drowning. and right now coffee is the only thing right now that can snap my mind into focus and make it start working. slowly lifting weight off my shoulders, wondering when my feet will lift up off the ground and i’ll float into outer space and then i’ll never see you again, because sometimes it feels that way. like being sad and being alive are pretty much the same thing inside me. because i don’t just feel little things. no, you don’t understand. when i cry, i make oceans. when i cry, i drown a little, only no one notices. when i cry, i can’t even figure out what the truth is. when i cry, i hate myself more than a little bit. but then… there are also the days when there are a couple clouds in the sky. slight mist and the lavender plants smell like purple sunsets, and i lean back against the grass and i look up at the sky. and i can’t quite put it into words. but in that exact moment, the world makes sense to me.


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