I still have time to be.

Low-class writing blog

[just-an-inkling]

I thought I had some sort of escape, a reprieve from the feeling of too much fluid in my lungs and never enough air. For a moment, I felt weightless, and the smile drifting across my face was genuine. I let myself dust off rooms inside myself, just in case they might be needed. I let myself stretch and smile at the popping back into place. Things felt like they were aligning. I thought.

[just-an-inkling]

“Why are you sad” keeps being repeated 

over and over, people keep asking me 

when I’m so zoned out of this world to even notice

that the emotions I’m carrying like overweight checked baggage 

are saturating conversations, are leaking through my pores 

and landing on the plate in front of me

I try offering explanations

I’m stressed, I’m tired, I’m busy, I’m…

empty

(of excitement, light, breath) 

and entirely too full 

(of anxiety brimming to the edge, leaving tears tip-toeing the ledges of my eyelids) 

at the same time, its a paradox 

and I hate being so fucking complicated 

I want “how are you doing” to be an easy question to answer 

I want “you want a hug” to not send me into potential sobbing fits 

I want spending a few seconds for myself to not be steeped in guilt

I want my pulse to not be racing every waking moment

I just want to sleep.

[just-an-inkling]

It’s one of those nights again. I thought I was starting to stop having these. (Well less). I feel this slow-burn anger licking up around my edges, tinging everything I say and do. I find myself spinning in circles. Looking for distractions. Where to look. What to say. How should my hands be moving? How can I make the choking feeling stop? My finger joints feel tight and swollen from clenching, and tension makes my jaw cracks every time I yawn. I’m becoming some sort of cartoon caricature of stress. The dark circles and bitten lips feel like permanent body features, as common as arms, legs, hands, feet. My body is begging for any fight or flight response I can give. Legs shaking in anticipation, if I listen hard enough I can hear the joints whisper of all the places I could be, should be, but am not. I’m here, in the same place, same night, same cycle, and it doesn’t break.

[just-an-inkling]

I’m not good with leaving things; Doors open, drawers not closed, empty lines, blank spaces, new places, Last times, leftovers, airplanes, arguments, conversations, calculations, Relationships, what ifs, buses, changing rooms, cozy blankets, Lights on, mind off, things half finished, words unsaid, bed head, till the last minute, Concern, worry, stress, control, (worst of all) People.

[just-an-inkling]

When songs shift alliances you can feel it under your skin, Like your hardwiring realigns, Synapses snapping towards a different stimulus, Names knot in your stomach Until unexpected syllables slip out. Not what you were intending.

[just-an-inkling]

Keeping his eyes on the road, I followed his movements by tracing the lines his body makes. Imagining the twists and turns while watching the curves of shoulder to neck to jaw as it all tenses. He stares ahead, focusing on the seconds ticking down till we reach that distance that’s just distant enough. I taste the anticipation on his skin. It causes the heavy-lead drop in my stomach more than the speed every could.

[just-an-inkling]

Why did I ever let you in- To a place that was meant To be my get-away car For situations just like these

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She hums yellow And you feel it in your pulse The way the swirls make water- colour puddles inside Perfect excuses for coughs to distract and peel your eyes away You taste the soft and sing the electric And it bubbles where you wish clammy hands weren't You pray for a lightning bolt to strike so it wouldn't look so damn obvious That you're looking

[just-an-inkling]

He whispered to her for the thousandth time, of a perfect kind of love. A kind of overflowing, can't hold all of it in your fingertips kind of love. The sort of magic in the movies can't believe it's reality kind of love. Late at night with the lights off, cocooned in blankets and sheets and ghost limbs too tight to kick away, she hears the breaths more than the words. She feels the separated pauses growing fewer and fewer, leaving little room for release as his words tumble faster and faster. It suffocates her.

[just-an-inkling]

I want to melt to the floor And drain out through the cracks Your gaze won't touch me My thoughts won't phase me I've turned them to liquid mush I'll leave them there When I pull myself together I'll leave them out Give myself a break from the flashbacks Let them vaporize Till all that's left is the ghost of a cringe

[just-an-inkling]

"I kind of want to be alone" I whisper to the empty To the dust that settles Where things (people) used to be "I kind of don't feel at home" I breathe into my skin Like a wincing stretch, trying To make room for air but pulling back in quick Silence, I listen For the footstep sound For the rush in retaliation Which my ears never quite catch In the act

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You are my sweetest downfall I loved you first, I loved you first…

[just-an-inkling]

I wake up detached From the strings I tied Tethered to my bed posts Leaving each morning A struggle to attain some sort Of gravitational pull in conversation, An alignment of thoughts and words Instead of spitting out phrases That spin, never stopping Farther and farther From listening ears

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My whole body itches For a state of rest Where the constant thrum Of the busy-bee-thoughts Slows to a thick honey drip Where the voices blend To only one That just hums, at peace

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He spurted out bruised apples Hoping to entrance me With some sort of shine But the hue died long ago And now the corpse pallor Of it is lingering Seems to be eating away, At words that were already said Stealing away the ending And I can see paper cuts Tracing your mouth From trying to kiss this all better But the truth of fairy tales Were never really happy endings

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Our ties stretch Till the laces slip Between the knots my knuckles make And fingers can't grab At the ends I feel your attention fray Out in all directions Spreading like splayed palms Till you're worn so thin I can start to see through your motive And it's the kind of mirror You're scared to look at For fear of seeing fact And recognizing her

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Some days I talk to you And I hope you listen I leave every sentence Breathy with room Pregnant with a pause So if you wanted You'd have the space to slip in Between my gaps, I'd let you Gather. How ever much you'd let Come and congregate In my lungs between the inhales And the exhales when I am Only holding, just holding Where I need you most When I'm waiting