Things Needed to Start a Fire

Baltimore creative. Personal Blog. Most work, unless stated otherwise, is mine. Some are old, some are new, some might be a work in progress. Please do not take, only enjoy. var sc_project=11435138; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_security="d76e63d1"; var scJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://secure." : "http://www."); document.write("");

[thingsneededtostartafire]

I hate that I have no idea what I’m doing, where I wanna go, know my purpose, I can’t even figure out who I am? I hate that I’m chastised for it. The attacks, not that it brings me down but because I’ve already isolated myself. I hate that I feel stuck, I’m poor and I’ve exiled most vices but because they are a normal construct and I have too much time I’m sucked back into them. I hate how I feel. I hate that I could be with a room full of people and still not feel loved or at least feel alone. I don’t require it but it’s more of a default setting and I can’t figure out the options. I hate that it feels like I’m wasting time and the pressure of doing so makes me want to waste more. I hate that my days are a time lapse of my depression and I can’t figure anything out and I don’t want to. Everything and one feels like a waste of time and energy. I feel like a waste of time and energy. The world spins no matter what and if the world were to stop I would not because my head hasn’t stopped spinning since the last I could remember.

I hate it all. Because I’m so fucking lost. I’ve just spent my life meeting temporary solutions until I forgot the equation and now all I’m left with is the problem.

The problem is me and I don’t know how to solve it.

[thingsneededtostartafire]

I know you left me

Because in my heart I know for sure I haven’t left you

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I haven’t written in so long and it’s hurting me

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Thats the thing, every action is a result of another. An apology is an understatement for what I believe I owe you. But I’m crying out for help and the only feelings you’re seeing are your own. I’m crying out because of the pain I’m holding inside, That I hide away. To look strong for you. To pretend I’m strong for me. Crying out Crying. Am I weak for trying? Pretending to see shooting stars when they’re just arrows to my chest and the only wish is not for the flight to abandon but for the pain to hault I feel like I’m shooting arrows and the only face is my heart.

[thingsneededtostartafire]

Is there really any difference between drowning in your thoughts or drowning in an ocean? Both activities seem so enervating The want for air becomes so demanding Body remote from the freedom desired Surroundings apathetic to the situation whether calm or chaotic The only need is to breathe But while drowning The results can also both feel the same

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I have so many cracks You are so much light - Pour into me

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I never thought when I wanted to go home that it always meant I wanted to go to you.

[mgraa-deactivated20201223]

“…And I hope you know I’m still a home That you look at these dry vines That you look at our withered garden And I hope even if you don’t say a word to me That you can say you’re proud And to say That you planted these seeds • • - I hope you come by with water” •••••••••••••••••••••••••••• d00dle by me || written words by @_derrickjg

[thingsneededtostartafire]

Clipper Mill | @mgraa

HAMPDEN.11.12.17

[thingsneededtostartafire]

You’re not as grown as you seem to appear But I know you stand taller than most trees I hope your arms reach like vines I hope your heart grows like a garden I hope you wrap yourself and find so much warmth I know I’m no longer your home But I hope you run pass me one day I hope you see me And I hope you know I’m still a home That you look at these dry vines That you look at our withered garden And I hope even if you don’t say a word to me That you can say you’re proud And to say That you planted these seeds - I hope you come by with water

[thingsneededtostartafire]

I’m always in feels it’s apathy that I let take over

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My body is nothing to write home about But the way your fingers grazed upon my skin Has me feeling like ink pouring onto paper I wish then I realized the cursive now engraved in my skin was you sending letters

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I have never begged for irrelevance Until social commentary became louder Then the sound of my own beating heart

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I loved you more because of the things and the sticking through thick and thin Everything’s so thin now My thoughts My words My intentions My love But never for you But now never with you Only with you things are thick My thoughts My words My love Our distance Forever from you But now I’m never with you - it’s 3am but it could be 3pm

[thingsneededtostartafire]

Like a rose stepped on a few times We’re still beautiful Just a little fucked up since the blossom

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when sorry starts sounding less like an apology and starts sounding more like a reflex. at least we’re not in hell (at Baltimore, Maryland)