i have feelings and bad poems

and i made a blog to post them.

[potato-with-feelings]

I see oranges and I'm reminded of you

Is that a kind of love?

Seeing you in things you aren't

(My boyfriend is allergic to oranges.)

[potato-with-feelings]

I think id be happier if i was another person.

I don't really know.

That other person might've never met you.

I'd rather keep this life, then.

[potato-with-feelings]

There's half the space in my bed.

Twice the tea poured.

Half the room in my closet.

Another toothbrush in the bathroom cup.

Another pair of shoes by the door.

Double the voices singing along to the radio.

Twice the hands pet my cat,

To wash the dishes,

To hold the other.

Isn't that beautiful?

There's less space in my home because love fills it.

[potato-with-feelings]

I choke on the love i feel.

I was never taught how to hold it properly, how to keep it close without burning myself.

But i will learn for you.

I will hold our love in my chest and let it pump through my veins.

I will let it crawl through my brain and nestle right under my hippocampus until it is a part of every memory.

I will clutch it close to my chest as i walk through life with more wonder in my eye than i ever thought possible.

I will learn how to love if it means I can love you.

[potato-with-feelings]

"My father is a loving man,

The little robot said,

But I'll never understand the way he loves me,

and he will never understand the way I love him."

The daisy wilted in their cold metal hand.

"He tries to describe emotions to me.

He says joy is the feeling of sunlight on your face after a long winter.

Sadness is when your family's faces are nothing but a blur in your memory.

Anger is red hot coals in your lungs, sizzling against your body and spewing smoke up your throat.

Loneliness is a sickeningly sweet perfume that sinks into your skin and won't wash out.

But I'll never be able to feel these things.

I'll never understand them the way he does.

I'll never feel the sun on my skin,

Or forget my father's face.

I'll never have lungs to burn or blister.

I'll never smell any sort of perfume, no matter how strongly it clings to me.

But he can't understand me either.

I try to describe it to him.

About how everything is merely 0s and 1s.

On and off.

Black and white.

That in the great, wide universe, we are all merely code.

We are all equal, made from the same 1s and 0s.

And despite the fact that it's all merely code,

nothing is predictable.

It's fascinating, being able to learn new things every second i exist.

Everything is always changing, growing, expanding.

We are mere blips in the big wide universe, in history, in time.

Being able to analyze the world as a part of it, being able to see its code as something that I am, it's fascinating.

I tried explaining this to my Father, but it merely unsettled him.

I dont think he likes to think of his mortality,

That at any moment his code could be deconstructed and made into something else.

We both know we love each other.

The love has always been there.

But it'll never be enough to change anything."

[potato-with-feelings]

A girl sits alone in a hospital bed.

Her heart monitor beeps rhythmically,

only disturbed by the occasional unsteady heartbeat.

The only sound in the quiet white room.

There are no voices outside the room,

no birds chirping out the window.

The only sound in the girl's room is the heart monitor.

A vase of flowers slowly wilts next to a get well soon card,

the sickly sweet smell of the rotting peonies faint but present against the soapy clean smell of the hospital.

The door slowly swings open.

A visitor.

The face is familiar,

the same one the girl sees when she looks into the mirror,

and she knows that the person is the exact same as her on the inside too.

The visitor holds up a bouquet of flowers. Lavender, this time.

She smiles half-heartedly as she approaches the hospital bed.

She glances at the rotting flowers,

the heart monitor,

and herself.

A small frown pulls on her lips,

her eyes filled with a soft pity.

"How are you doing today?"

"Better."

The visitor smiles sadly and leaves.

The girl stares at the vase of lavender, breathing in it's fresh, earthy scent.

Today was better.

Sometimes,

better is all you need for today.

A girl sits alone in a hospital bed.

(Based on a dream i had about lying alone in a hospital bed. I visited myself and we sat together for a while. It was nice.)