dye it in madder of roses, so we can begin @imtrying-okay - Tumblr Blog

i have stolen my parents’ duvet

(they are - the people they are, the memories, love and comfort and wishes — those are in the seams. stuffed. not the skin-change lining. continuous. comforting.)

i have FOUR blankets.

two duvets

YES

(5:56 oct92025)

theres tears in my eyes

i know it because theyre wet and sticky and gross

my dace is hot.

if i put my head to the sheets,

he’s purring.

just realized everyone i love is going to die. my cat, my mom, my dad, my grandmother, my sister. my dog died and i don’t remember how her fur felt. how she barked.

its hard to breathe. im choking on my own mourning.

took an edible about it tho so.

4:26am oct.9.2025

there is light on the ceiling.

it too will break when the morning comes,

but for now it stains the world in faux-aurora;

the plastic crinkles, the balloon deflates,

there is a clementine peel growing stiff and fragile on the desk,

its juices ferment,

then spoil.

the person that leaves is not the person that entered,

falling trees and floating stones,

but here, a breath is held,

in faux yellow light,

tasting like oranges.

(09.25.2025, 12.11am)

#author attempts a poetry

i am awake under blue winded nights. the yellow shimmering glass does well for a childhood fear of the dark. it was frightening, even in the surety of it. amazing!

(sept19.1:57.2024)

under a thousand protests and buzzing thoughts,

i trail behind your heel,

trip and stumble and laugh it off easily,

my teeth are crooked through the smile.

seventeen hundred actions,

neurons flaring and muscles pulling,

the twitching of your diaphragm.

laugh with me!

(under a thousand worthless thoughts and actions,

do you believe i’m still there?)

sept 4, 2025

“a clown’s friend”.

i think i am tired, and yet- have been swept away by it all. classes and late summer and the endless cry of cicadas falling from trees,

(the sway of feet and a fallen chair-)

we’re all a little haunted, aren’t we?

no matter how sweet it tastes going down,

how sweet it tastes going back up-

the oscillating pendulum of a grandfather clock;

here we go again.

(i think i’m healing.)

(or living.)

(is there a difference?)

sept 1, 2025

does anyone else get, like, late summer depression? like its the happiest and most comfortable time of year im just. depressed

it helps,

(one, two, three,)

to breathe, but when

(four, five, six,)

you can only

(one, two, three)

exist this way,

(four, five, six)

you breathe in ash,

(hold, hold, hold)

more often than not.

(breathe out. breathe.)

you’ll destroy yourself,

(light.)

soon enough. for now,

(one, two, three,)

at least you’re alive.

(four, five, six.)

you still

(hold, hold, hold,)

have something left to burn.

(breathe.)

(08.01.24)

hello squid,

welcome to my life.

(your purr:

“yes, yes, i love you too.”)

-aug 12, 2024

i ask my mother,

“can i have another?”

i do not talk about the gaps in between my lungs,

or the empty spaces on the floor,

beside my bed and the couch and in the living room.

i do not need to say it, i know, she knows.

we live our grief like a secret.

“not yet,” she says,

“we loved her,”

“i think we loved her too much.”

(august 1, 2024)

(i loved her too, mother,)

(but being alone will kill me.)

#my baby my baby

i feel an old tiredness. to grieve for the first time. to lose so permanently. i do not think i was meant for living through something like this.

but here i am.

i do not think i am meant to be so alone.

(august 1, 2024)

#my baby my baby

i miss my baby.

i fend it off my eating peaches at midnight,

slightly soft and slightly bruised,

cold.

they warm a little in my hands,

bite after bite,

after bite.

what remains is something small in my hands.

(a baby.)

i throw it in the trash,

wash my hands of it.

the memory of a peach is sweet,

can i bear another?

(august 1, 2024)

(i am sorry that i am here,

and you are not.)

#my baby my baby

“you brought me here just to be your friend?” yeah man. you’re here because you’re loved. that’s why we exist: to love and be loved

i feel like i hear sobbing from the other room,

“my baby, my baby”

(july12.2024)

#my baby my baby #kmsy

she was warm in my arms.

she was warm.

i can’t write the poetry. just look;

she was warm and cradled in blankets and breathed ever so slightly,

big brown-black eyes,

‘i love you,

i love you,

i love you.’

she was the best.

(july 11 2024)

#my baby my baby

i saw a bird on my walk today,

small and brown and gray,

cold in the air and silent amongst the grass.

i asked the little bird,

“has life hurt you as it has me?

do you remain here, as i do?”

if hope is such a thing with wings,

what does it mean to lay here in the grass?

to remain unflown,

not to live,

not to die?

have others told you to stay, little bird,

to not leap from the highest branch,

even as the sky arcs above you,

a promise?

have you stayed with selfish intent,

(yours or theirs?)

flown and not yet flown,

gone but not yet gone?

(june 10th 2024, 8:45am)

#poetry

there’s a tree on campus I like to sit in during the warm weather. i’m pleased to see it still fits me, that i have not grown clumsy or incapable of climbing it’s branches.

i like watching the passerbys, those by the lake, the library, the buildings. when they spot me, i wave. i love seeing them; i love it even more when they see me, even nestled in the branches, where they wouldn’t think to look. ‘surprise! here i am!’ like a little fruit in the trees.

i hope there is joy there.

i hope you find me.

21 febuary 2024

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dye it in madder of roses, so we can begin