i hate how it feels
you can see me
through that corner in the blinds out the window.
here, lately,
i need to be
reminded to be
open.
the state of
existential instability.
quietly bubbling until the
next dose of adderrall.
and the removal
again from an
environment.
and learned again,
i do have limits.
a space where
i should have some inherent idea
of how to move
forward, some
empty location
in my gut,
that is supposed to direct me.
nothing really matters,
nothing fucking matters,
everything is meaningless
under the sun.
i swear i almost feel
my teeth rotting
from the inside out.
self-neglect that started
long ago.
i am not alone.
but i am not full,
i am full but of
tea soon to come and
my throat was cleared of
unchewed leaves
when coughing after hitting a bong.
what do i call you,
state of mind?
i cried at “small” things for days and
my nose is runny now,
eyes teary at
threats of sneezing at least
every five minutes but now i
feel less sentimental
i could cry still but only after
talking too in depth about
the ghosts of a life previous
to this one.
what should i name
this point of life?
they don’t label historical periods
except after European imperialism and
United States exceptionalism and
obsession but also
not until they have already passed.
there are universes where
i am doing different things than this.
the cat bites
more gently than the dog.
the dog was hurt and then afraid
so i want to show him as best i can
that i am friendly and safe,
i back away when he seems not to want me
around.
new ways to torment oneself:
sequester away for silence,
fill the silence with
the Magnetic Fields’
“69 Love Songs”
all on your own.
but i haven’t yet.
nothing sounds right yet
so exhausted i
can’t even feel.
reckless, reckless, reckless
i dont know why i keep myself up.
no one’s fear is enough.
let me tell you how i
avoided those scars.
and let me tell you
that I’m not bothered by my
torn and bitten
nailbeds.
most dichotomies are false.
ive had to, in some ways,
tranquilize myself
in order to sleep.
i giggle to myself when
i bump into the bag of used
nitrous oxide cannisters.
my friends go out to protest
i stay back and play
music while they make posters
i take forty micrograms of LSD
like the fucking assholes
who tripped while
their contemporaries protested
and died in the
many, many, many wars.
shelter from the rain and
open eyes but i stare at the same
familiar walls and the one
Familiar screen.
we are full of love
chosen family.
I wish i could share this
with others who don’t have it.
We are so lucky but feels so good
screaming
through the streets
music blasting,
fuck our inaugurated president.
i neednt mourn for any lost
time
it isn’t lost, i can do everything right now.
gauging how emotionally safe
an individual
is through
the amount of
personal experience
of emotionally instability.
there were others like me
spored from the same brain planet.
i shouldn’t be sad if you
are vulnerable to me drunk.
you are not exactly private,
but you are particular.
poetry is not an escape
just a dive
in, into my
subconscious and my
depths of thought and all my
Truest fears and all the
deepest images i
recreate and reframe
turning memory into
verbal film for others
to consume and maybe
relate to where is there
purpose in creating
if you are not witnessed,
at the very least.
vaporwave
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
stormborns
dailybridgerton
titsay
