2018

im not afraid to stare at myself in the mirror

im not afraid to believe in something i don’t have

im not afraid of the harsh reality

im not afraid of cutting my clothes

im not afraid of confessing

i am not afraid

anymore

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3 months

whenever i take a substantially long break away from writing i feel like i’ve abandoned my heart in the middle of a grassy field

three months later and the trees are naked

three months later and my hair is a faded shade of auburn

three months later and i’ve learned the basics on conversing through sign language

three months later and my ears have heard fresh tunes that keep me up at night

three months later and my room is filled with colored lightbulbs

three damn months later, i am 22 years old, and this year is almost gone

 

see you for the next even year

 

 

 

 

Water Music
by Robert Creeley

The words are a beautiful music.
The words bounce like in water.

Water music;
loud in the clearing

off the boats,
birds, leaves.

They look for a place
to sit and eat—

no meaning
no point.

 

nature

people enjoy thunderstorms because the sky is creating a light show, the rain makes a trickling sound that roars into their ears, the thunder wakes them, catches their attention. it’s a performance, a scientific production: the sky is doing something different.

maybe i’m not a fan because of childhood, because the police knocked on my door  from mom and dad fighting too loud, almost in tune with the thunder outside.

or maybe it’s because i appreciate the simple, blue, quiet sky. how the trees lightly sway but are kept dry, content. maybe i love those silent moments, in between the inevitable chaos.

don’t tell me what doesn’t matter

when quotes that are supposed to be casual yet powerful say shit like “nothing matters” and everybody is like “damn, deep shit” fuck them.

your shit matters.

everything matters.

maybe we exist in a rotating sphere, but everything you’re saying, everything you’re going through, it fucking matters.

that boy who didn’t text you back, who made you cry? it matters.

that dress you got red wine all over? how it made you annoyed? it matters. 

why are people obsessed with giving the entire planet no meaning?

just because death is inevitable? just because everything can end any second?

that means every single thought and emotion doesn’t actually mean anything?

fuck that.

i’m not okay with that.

 

there are good ones

and I’m thinking about them

and they’re thinking about me

 

they’re strangers but temporarily mine

our minds are inside each other

believing in a truth that seems impossible

 

what if we meet

what if we become one

will it ruin us

i don’t want to be

without you

 

 

found this in my drafts from 8 months ago 

i want a lifetime guarantee

humans are not one thing; we are created to be versatile and unique. however, lately a streak of uncertainty has been painted onto my back, making it present but seemingly difficult to keep track of.

a bed is comfortable, but it’s possible to be uncomfortable while laying in a bed

everything is so damn dependable in my life

i am not a shy person, but i am also not an outgoing person: it just depends on who i am around, what mood I’m in, the energy of the other person

we often give people these specific adjectives that make up their personality: funny, quiet, affectionate, sarcastic, silly, serious. 

we are so multidimensional and complex, so why is it so easy for me to stamp a logo that reads “outgoing” onto someone’s forehead and forever associating them with said logo, when i can’t do the same for myself? it must be easier to describe someone else than to describe myself

but i personally can’t put myself into any categories, because almost all of my logos depend on every little thing

i want a lifetime guarantee
of myself