Vomit Vacinity

My name is Courtney Hawkins and I reside in Maine. Originally from Redding, CA. I am 26 years old, and have been avidly writing and overthinking since I was born. Please enjoy the spewed chunks, and please, be wary of the wet floor.

[vomitvacinity]

I like the guy at the bar making bets and playing pool. Elusive

[vomitvacinity]

Toking half as much grass and I’m so much more elevated.

No one wants to fall in love in the desert. It’s too beautiful around you to fall in love with anything else. It breeds romance doused in respect for ability to survive. But here’s the thing: roots don’t grow very easily in the desert. Here, we have crypto-biotic soil, and it takes hundreds of years to grow anything. The same applies to relationships. A lot of desert love is thirsty and drought filled. The red rock is a religion. If you choose to explore it, you become captivated internally. There isn’t time for anything else.

[vomitvacinity]

Please write more. Your words are missed.

I'm sorry. I'm really gonna try.

[vomitvacinity]

Hummingearss

My life consists mainly of making notes that never quite get fully paid attention to again. I pride myself on being able to see details. The little unused unseen underground parts. I like to find ingenious uses for things. I am very smart with a dollar. I feel like I have trained myself to be a calloused business owner, constantly in a bubble between who I can connect with and why. I feel there is always a space there, thickly fogged with respect and wonder some days. I feel miscalculated for who I am, for I never try to seem above any in nature. In fact, it is the exact opposite. I feel akin to so many people, but trust is hard to install. Is it wrong to think a reboot can be found among relocation?

My roots are typically short, I never keep things for very long. I am a temporary tempered person, a long term equation is usually rare and noteworthy. Even "things" don't stay for very long. Things must be new unless they are purposely old. And in the timeliest of moments, must be exact. My flaws of placement and compulsion idealize control and relaxation. The release placebos empowerment. A feeling from within of ultimate happiness, if not for a few moments if you stay still enough.

I keep longing, though -- old relations and ships, wondering if I will ever be able to truly trust many new faces since my brain fully grew and I got years added to my belt. I can only keep going. So far I have succeeded in feeling closer. I no longer feel alien. Life is trying to give me a lot of chances. I think it's because finally I know I may be a little insane but everyone has got something insane kept inside. Trust me, just talk to them for a bit. Everyone's got something really deep inside.

[vomitvacinity]

Wi-Fi Failure

It's hard to agree with other people's choices. That's why they're called "other people's choices" in the first place.

Friends are hard, because you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. Especially when you know a fix. Most of the time, speaking your mind doesn't help. Think of a million like-you-minded people, uncertain about other people and thinking the same as you. They form similar fears, insecurities, social norms; therefore, you are alone. 

I can't tell you how many times I've met people I know I would get along great with. But too bad for me, I'm pretty insecure when it comes to my true feelings and it's probably the same on their end. Connections are hard to make. It's hard to find someone that just doesn't mind you being you around them.

I have met very few people in my life that I feel no stress around, that make me feel good when I talk to them, and be around them. They are all different and wonderful, and it makes me hungry to make more connections like it-- but I fear it will take time aplenty. 

Growing up is hard, you lose all of your friends and start on the journey to making new ones, all while trying to take care of yourself and adapting to annoying adult life.

No wonder we're all abusing something in our lives. The stress is a ghost.

[vomitvacinity]

.::

Any fear I voice tends to hold true, as does with deep desire. I hate feeling linked to my own misfortunes, but at least I feel content with knowing my innermost cravings eventually materialize.  At least if I don't lose this immature hope, it sure fills me with drive. Never have I began to decipher between what I can know is right versus being blindly lead. It lets my worries go without a disappointment -- yet a sense of unrelenting wonder for what comes next.

[vomitvacinity]

Fluency

I tend to stray from dry eye. Most things seem more interesting with a foul outlook, and maybe it's because all of the beauty I have found thus far has been born from it. I take two steps backward and immerse myself in a faraway place, almost indescribable. Memories are accessible, fears float, and you become full. Here I find solace. It's where things begin and end for me, where I can become objective... a watcher. So peaceful, becoming someone something. To absorb without the intention of reaction. To learn, to grow.

[vomitvacinity]

I remember when your blog was crazy. I mean it really, good right now. But I just remember A time when crime was sublime.

It is true I used to write a lot more than I do now. At one point in my life all I did was produce bits and pieces and poems. But it is also true I was very sick at this time. Both mentally and physically. The downtime eluded me. I am now in a healthier state of mind trying to find myself in the real world. I just now am coming back to revel in what used to make me feel... sublime. I hope I can find a happy medium with my talent once again.

[vomitvacinity]

Imprinted

There's a half finished nude painting of me you started out of the 26 pieces, and from this point it could end up being someone else. Lines are bare enough to bare any bone. I wouldn't mind that. I don't want a piece of me for just any eye to see. My body is mine and to those I choose to share it. You found old photos of me from that day at the lake, where I got naked for Amanda. Pulled out of the closet, under other escapes.  It is fine to use your imagination to fill a void.

The painting lay reminiscent, of a day you didn't speak. And now I feel inclined to help you finish it. 

[vomitvacinity]

Love is a word that manipulates you. Love is a tie. Love is annoying. Love lets you down. Love makes you do things you hate. Love makes you broke. Love is how it has become to be. Love is not the same. Love is not one way. Love has never been a good thing, but we are all drawn to the flame.

[vomitvacinity]

Unadulterated

Shake, shake, shake. Toss and turn. Sweltering, swollen. Lights and headache. Sand. Bulging eye, waiting for dawn.

My insomnia and curse for words never knows what time of day it becomes. My mind flips all around endless possibilities, awaiting each one with a tinge and a tongue waiting to say I told you so. Always smarter, always peeling, shaking, burrowing. Grand adulthood. Endless lists and lesions. 

Awaiting something or another always, ay?

I am finally falling apart inside and out. Knees know the walls, always upside down in position for you. I need books, books, tell me how to live, leave me for dead. I can't know if I'm actually a good person. No one near to tell the truth.

Behind my eyes is still an 8 year old girl who doesn't want to leave the only home she's ever known. Purple paisley, play-doh, and pudding pies. I choose to remember, but only the best of these... memories.

[vomitvacinity]

Cracking

I can tell the distance is becoming greater. I look at him and I can both tell we have things on our mind, but we will never talk about the thick air lingering. The magic is gone, the passion. Shallowly robotic and guilt lined. I'm such an impatient soul.  What is it about me, that always wants to know new things? I feel so left behind. I feel like I'm supposed to be already somewhere else, making better advances. Perhaps I am too hard on myself and I need to stop dealing the cards and start just playing the game. Never could shuffle though. Can't sleep with meds, can't live in the day without meds. My life is cursed or backwards somehow, my spirit doesn't match my life. 

[vomitvacinity]

Eye Whole

If journals were backwards, everything in real life would be so much more understood. No nonsense. Everyone is happy because everything is on the outside. No one has to worry about what the other person is thinking. And then we go home and don't write in a journal. Because we never would have said anything else, it'd be all already said.

Sometimes when I stare at people's faces I try to figure out what's going on. You can never tell. Faces can lie, sometimes. Most the time, though, I like to believe everything inside comes out eventually. Even in a glimmer or small second. A pinch of the face for a millisecond before the fake one. I know you're in there, somewhere.

I want to talk about everything going on behind the eyes.

[vomitvacinity]

What I believe in scares me. How much love is inside me terrifies me. How many feelings I have that no one understands makes me disconnect from what fear ever meant to me in the first place.

[vomitvacinity]

Looper

Green - Yellow - Red - whichever color the button, it still radiates to me when I feel this abyss. The trigger, the power button, what you like to call nothing. How delightful renewal sounds.

When the net catches nothing it's hard to continue the job. It's mixed up masochism, whenever you allow to gate to open. It's the same thing as self-stabbing. You take a shower and realize the self deprecating actions, yet, you cannot move. You're stuck frozen, playing thoughts over and over until they become lethal, poisonous. You find yourself leaning over a bowl of rice krispies hoping with your eyes closed they would become bombs.

As I sit alongside my life, I can finally see nothing in my eyes. It's like all has been removed and thus forward, but I cannot bring myself to even flinch.

All in all I am dead inside. Constantly absorbing. Never purging.

[vomitvacinity]

I Dare You

to decode me.

[vomitvacinity]

Synchro

It is just so? I'm a person always lacking -- on the day I don't take the little blue pill.

Uncertain exchanges are the marrow in me. When I stare in the mirror I only see sticky eyes. Always a person waiting for someone else to make a move. You'd think the doctor'd learn. Rubbing everything away, try.

Crustacean eyelids get you nowhere, just a foot above dead. Constantly marked up to a machine, scanning rooms for a pulse of energy. It's a cowboy cutscene with nothing but a whistle lingering, a flicking candle deciding the rest.

Do my past friends revel in this? The fact I am the only one to dissect someone but myself. I write songs that end with the same word the started.

I'm all used up inside.