#coco decker

[cocodeckermedia]

i sat in the corner of nowhere n searched for home kissed line of my sternum with gentle finger tips tapped on its steady as though requesting entrance at a door    it answered back, a rhythmic murmur    a weak whisper    a shy response to the request of guests

[cocodeckermedia]

i made a goddess out of waves today, she was building an orchestra out of nature she invited me to hum along, to embrace the force n crash she taught me breaking // broken // healing

[cocodeckermedia]

college roommate

college roommate is more concerned with telling me about my eating habits then worrying about her own problematic shit she complains about my $1.29 cent chicken sandwich from jack in the box, while sitting at her desk eating cuisine from a vegan cafe she ordered through postmates and failed to tip, well, anyone college roommate spends $14 on a salad, complains about her day cause she dropped her specialty coffee on the sidewalk, treats the servers like shit, i know this, because i served her once 

college roommate calls daddy when she spends her weekly allowance too quickly, fails classes on the regular, does not have to worry about wasted tuition, after all, she is so weighed down by the excess money

 college roommate is not grounded in reality she tells me that when i get off work it’s not safe for me to walk home she suggests i lyft, or uber, she does these things on the daily she does not understand what it means to work til you’re exhausted, pay your bills, and not have enough bus fare to get home 

college roommate owns more clothes than i will have in a lifetime is a self-proclaimed proud bargain shopper, listens to macklemore’s thrift shop on repeat, brags about being able to “rap along,” college roommate feels trendy, feels hipster, feels rad celebrates macklemore’s four grammys, but turns off the acceptance speech as soon as he attempts to address his privilege 

college roommate hates conversations about privilege doesn’t understand the problematic nature of her complaining about the inconvenience of the dormitory twelfth floor gender neutral bathroom as a waste of space she tells me that she will not use the facilities because it would make her feel unsafe i do not know how to explain how the entire university makes me feel unsafe 

college roommate is not the only one complacent in the system she is an example, a case study, of society as a whole

[cocodeckermedia]

81.

there are 81 antidepressant pills lined up in 9 lines on my bedside table and my psychiatrist calls me every tuesday at 8:01am to ask how i am doing and i tell her how i am not routining, how my odd is cooperating, is hibernating, how i am falling in love with this part of myself, the part that is supposed to be silent, be still i haven’t taken my pills in 81 days, but the psychiatrist doesn’t know that, still refills the prescription, i still go to the pharmacy, tell them my name, pay the price of illness, and continue on my day –– it’s part of the routine the part of the routine where the orange pill bottles pile up, where each pill gets separated and organized, where they don’t ever enter my system but still make me part of the system, the part where i fake it––tell myself to fight the outward show of my reality, look at the palms of my hands and see failure, see medical puppet, see traitor, see forced still to too-fast fingers i think that i am falling in love with this part of myself my sister calls me to tell me about the baby i play excited, play okay, tell her everything is going fine but there are 9 lines of 9 pill son my bedside table and i don’t know how to tell anyone this because my psychiatrist never asks me if i’m taking the pills, only asks how i am doing ... i have trained my tongue to force slow fine, she has to believe me hibernation, empty shell, wandering sleepwalker because if i tell her she will call me crazy, mental, act as though this is my cry for help, this is not my cry for help i think that i am falling in love with this part of myself how there is no stopping this headache, my ocd is not going away these running thoughts, the counting numbers, the relentless nagging of the beast on my shoulder my thoughts, a speeding bullet, unstoppable. these pills, create target to destroy, shatter into shrapnel my psychiatrist keeps calling my thoughts disorder, keeps refilling the prescription, keeps telling me to get used to the halt of the bullet i do not want this, pills that grow tombstones in my gut, i tried this before, they tried to sink me heavy, i do not want to be sunk heavy i am falling in love with this part of myself the part that is routining, floating, woke and alive, transformed my fingers, they flutter and dance magic, build safety in every space that is a potential tomb my tongue, when set free from its hold can sing miracles––this routine of loving everything, nine times over, i do not want this love to go away

i thought about trying to get “better” today but 81 pills is just too much to swallow and i don’t know how to break the routine

[cocodeckermedia]

diagnosis

have you ever been the gun? 

when I was diagnosed with odd they suggested pharmaceutical and exposure therapy they said that the pills would change my brain, make things quiet, make things normal, make everything okay what they didn’t say is that my diagnosis would become a gun, the pills, bullets––drop heavy into chamber, blossom into flowers meant to accompany tombstones, or hospital beds their treatment whispers “get better” shouts “medicate yourself for their comfort” when i decide that i cannot play to their comfort or their safe or their normal decide that i can no longer permit myself concealed i decide to love the only part of myself i find home in 

my doctor tells me that without treatment i am unstable, that odd is something that we can fix, but i have to put in the effort, am i willing to put in the effort? 

i have never wanted to be a gun, never wanted to be controversy or danger but everyone seems to see mentally divergent as danger

but my mind is not a treaty, not a risk of public endangerment it is beauty, divergency at its finest, repetitive routine of love, and love, and love

i spent way too much time this morning whispering love into smoke it made me late for the bus

but it was worth it