where I won't be found

[symbolism-art-history]

The Swamp (1900) by Gustav Klimt

[lepraddd]

[indecentpixie]

I Don't Know Where It Comes From Or Who Gave It To Me But Even Though I Feel Bad For Myself I Feel Bad For Them Too And Although I Seek Help It Doesn't Do Much, It Just Takes An Hour From Me Every Week

I feel good when I do things I don't want to do

Do you know that feeling when you're in bed and you want to take care of yourself

You want so badly to prove to yourself that you think you will make it or that even if you won't somehow, things will turn out in a way as if someone else were living your life

It already feels that way anyway, though.

I wish someone else could sit behind my eyes, if only for a moment.

And I could burrow into my heart, some dark and cozy corner.

I wonder what it's like

To not feel like everything is so hard.

Even just lying/sitting/standing/walking here or anywhere I feel the weight of Difficulty.

[indecentpixie]

so did everyone just make themselves a really nice dinner and play bg3 all day while hopelessly waiting for patch 6 or what

[indecentpixie]

Here Lies The Girl With So Many Names She's Begun To Lose Count. She Was So Hopeful, So Much Left To Give The World Although The World Did Not Deserve It. Whatever Ends Up Being Put On The Tombstone, I Don't Think It Matters. So Long As Visitors Walk By And See Her Hair Coming Out Of The Earth As If She Were Only Recently Buried, No Coffin, And Definitely Not Six Feet Under

I'm so afraid of betraying myself that I haven't let myself be who I am. I'm still learning but I think I'm ready to try something new and let the thing out of it's hall of mirrors. Looking back on everything I was always there and I'm still here but it's time to step into myself. Maybe there doesn't need to be two, maybe we can be together at last. I've tired myself out of the narrative that has been my life. Who cares if people look at me and don't see what I am? I know what I am and I know where I come from. My brain was dropped into my skull by a beautiful alien siren from a different world, her hands covered in a sticky residue that I can still feel swimming around my skull.

I can feel myself letting go and it's not a shedding of the skin but an expansion of my airy-self, my soul, my semi-tangible essence. I think I'm finally ready to put who I am into action instead of this husk that my earthly existence has emptied me out to become.

[luthienne]

Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

[weltenwellen]

Carl Phillips, from "Quarter-View, From Nauset", Rock Harbor

[louisegluck]

Sylvia Plath, from Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices [ID in alt text]

[indecentpixie]

And What If I Don't Want To Stand Outside What If I Want To Lie Down What If I Want To Be Underneath Every Blanket I Own Or What If I Don't Want To Meet Anyone's Gaze For Fear That They Will See That I Am Essentially Just One Of Those Shells You Pick Up From The Beach And Forget About And Eventually You're Like What Do I Do With This It's Pretty But I Don't Feel Like Packing It When I Move But I Can't Just Put It In The Trash Either, Can I?

My bones are wet but my skin is dry and I wish it were the opposite but I'm not much in control of that, like a lot of things. If I keep grasping at air eventually there will be something to hold on to, right? Someone will pass by and see me waving my hands around and they'll pity/recognize me as a human being, openly asking for something to touch and they'll dig through their pockets and find whatever is there lint/a coin/folded up receipt and they'll put it where eventually I can reach it. If I take it do I release everything else? Will no one else stop by? Will people stop offering me things? I'd prefer a hand or an arm or a face. I believe that beggars can be choosers. Will I allow myself that same privilege?

[flowerytale]

Joan Didion, from Blue Nights

[indecentpixie]

Who Can I Call To Talk To About This And Will It Be Toll Free I've Never Had To Use Minutes Before I Don't Even Know How That Works But I Think For This Kind Of Thing That Kind Of Thing Would Apply

when my eye twitches like this it makes me wonder how disconnected i am from my body what is my stress level exactly and how did i get here and what are my circumstances truly and will i overcome them? coincidences and synchronicities make me feel like im in the presence of something greater like maybe the universe is actually me and im inside myself

Do these little things add up with purpose or is everything just sort of like a long build up for a joke or like what exactly is happening

are things planned in advance? Honestly it doesn't seem like it. And if nothing is planned maybe that makes these little moments even more special

[indecentpixie]

In A World Where It Should Be Easy I (And Others, I Am Not Solely To Blame) Have Made It Hard For Me To Connect To Anything Other Than What Is Already Here And So With A Heightened Sense Of Responsibility

I sit in the water observing like a crocodile but not so sinister my eyes are soft and wide and hopeful and everyone else seems so happy but the water is cold this time of year and everything is so involved and so i sit and watch the ones on the river side lake side everywhere else side and i know i could be over there in an instant but i don't want to have to gift myself with patience, I want to attack in the sweetest most gentle but ravenous way i want to run and meet whoever is willing to be devoured instantly so i watch and wait in the dark for you to turn around

[indecentpixie]

But I Can't Help But Try To Place Something Into The Blank Spaces Of My Memory, They Can't Have All Been Forgotten, I Hope I Wasn't- Knowing That At Least In Some Ways I Was

I can remember the summers of a child. The grassy patches, the lack of shade from the sun. The kind breeze and the clouds, floating by. I remember pointing, lying down on the earth with a friend, creating images in the clouds, voicing explanations for what we saw. It didn't matter if the other couldn't see it, magical if they did.

The world was brighter then. I can't remember who was there.

If I went outside to lie in the dirt now, I think tears would spring to my eyes as they are now, and I think

I think that maybe my mind would empty. What would I see if I looked at the clouds, now that I am full of all that has happened?

Would anything be soft? Would the sun shy away from me?

Maybe January is not the time to think of these things

[7dolors]

the mouth of roadkill

sometimes poetry is pulling two random and unrelated symbols and making a poor attempt at connecting them in the same piece because that’s what feels right! click 4 alt txt

[indecentpixie]

Building Takes Time And Not Even Just Three Days It's More Like Your Whole Life Becomes Dedicated To Building And In The End But Even More So In The Beginning

when the Calvary isn't coming you spend a long time waiting anyway. Even more time hiding. Over time you find small ways to show yourself life whether that be through watching others live theirs, consuming media, reading books, writing your own fiction, creating movies in your mind. Eventually you start to believe that you may be able to find a safe space after all. Somewhere you can lay your head down, without finding cover first.

Is life just a series of abandonments in which you follow yourself around in case you collapse under the pressure of desire/longing/regret for what you had always hoped and dreamed your life would be like?

At any given moment there are two of me, one cannot turn back and the other is spinning in circles assessing and reassessing, predicting, rewriting the past, and still hopelessly plotting for the future.

[indecentpixie]

....... is this thing on