100 days

 I spent the entire day with no plans. No promises. No work.

I am on the brink of anxiety.

It feels like I only have a small amount of happiness that I can hold. But my reservoir for strife is like an infinitely strong balloon. And there's always room for more.

Only with no other problems can I make room for all of your problems. 

I hope in 100 days I can look back and not recognize myself anymore 

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Everything is okay
I am okay
Don't worry
I am content
With me and with you
You should be too

Some Things Are

There are times when one must turn inwards
Look for the meaning in their actions and words
Try to find their faults and put them to paper
Let them out from their mind
Revisit those flaws
Make plans to right them
Some things are meant to not be thought about
They simply are
Simply must be done

Reborn

It took time
A year
And a lifetime before that
And a lifetime after
This is another rebirth

Her

Why should I hate anything
Things aren't to be hated
Just people to be misunderstood

Always There Is Noise

I fill my life with noise
And I never really stopped to think why
And when I do actually think
I do it with the noise still going around me

I am an angry man
I am scared
I am naive and stubborn
And lazy
I never try to think about how others feel
And even in this I only write about myself

But with all the noise, I can pretend I am like him
And I can look down and pretend to understand
All while my ears and eyes and nose and bones are just filled with it all
And I can pretend I am not myself

Things

Life For Rent
Kid A
Speaker For The Dead
Call Me By Your Name
Arrival
The Left Hand Of Darkness

It's been awhile

I miss feeling this way
I miss feeling like I'm addicted
And that the world is a tiny place with only my problems to fill it
I miss the way you taste
And the way when you're embarrassed you bury your head in my neck
I really miss shutting out everyone else
And turning off my phone
And not caring what was happening out there
Because everything I care about right now is right here with me

I miss the laughter
And I fucking miss your eyes
And the way I can see the love in it
And for this short amount of time, we're all we need and want

But this is just a vacation
A few hours where we can travel back in time
To when the world was a smaller place
And we can look out the windows in our little submarine
And just laugh at all of them out there
Because right now, everything is just perfect

A Spin Around the Sun

I remember kindergarten pretty distinctly. For a long time I remembered it as an eternity. It must have taken at least four or five years to get through. Of course I know now it was just two. And some of it was just half days. But it felt like a whole lifetime. I met new people. I learned so much. I made friends. I got bullied. I had multiple teachers somehow. It felt so very long. Childhood was like that. Two hour roadtrip were ordeals. A day passing was an eternity. Tv shows were so long, and the commercials long enough to go off and do other things and come back and still have time to watch the toy commercials. Then as I got older, 30 minutes of tv felt like nothing. I could on a whim jump in a car and drive for three hours and think nothing of it. And now seasons pass like days. I look out my window and think how a year ago, I must have been in this same spot, looking at the same view, and thinking the same thoughts. Time just keeps passing faster and faster, and it bothers me less and less.

As good as it gets

What if this is as good as it gets. What if right now, that's it. That's all you get. You might get more money, or find love, or win a car or buy a boat or have some kids. But for happiness, that's it. You're topped up, no more overflow, thanks for playing, now you can sit down. What if you're not even all that happy anyways. What if you forgot to be happy when you were supposed too, and now it's too late.

Love - the worst drug of all

Love is great when we fall for the right people
Your circle of friends grows with like minded people
Your days are filled with joy and wonder
But love isn't always so convenient
Sometimes you just fall for the wrong damn people
Sometimes you love someone who's gay and you're not
Sometimes you love someone who's in a relationship
Sometimes you love someone who is usually your perfect person, but happens to love ecstasy too
You can't help who you love though
Love is an asshole

High

You never forget that one high
The one that was just so perfect
The world seemed so beautiful and peaceful
And nothing had ever been wrong and could go wrong
These days that's all you're ever looking for anymore
And the closest you ever get is just numbing yourself enough to forget how miserable you are
Because that high wasn't because you were high
It was a moment when life itself was beautiful and you mistook it for a chemical in your brain
And now you're just chasing rainbows that will never come

Melancholy Tea

I write pretty sad and depressing sounding things a lot. It's not because that's how I am in general. I'm not some sad sack who can't even be bothered to form a smile. I've realized every time I write something down, I lose a little piece of what I'm writing. It gets captured into words and leaves my own mind. And every shred of happiness I have, I cling to as much as I can, and share with those I love. But the sadness mostly stays with me. And so I write it all down in hopes that with each written word it will slowly evaporate from me until it is all gone.

Changing with the seasons

You don't see the changes you've gone through. The beauty you exude, like new roses blooming after every long cold and dark winter. Each blossom the result of seeds planted long ago, each a new and wonderful and dizzying dimension added to your life. You don't see them and yet it's reflection is there for you to see every day. The very fact that you think the world has gotten more lustrous and vibrant and full. The world stayed the same, what's grown better is you.

By Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping.
Which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
Sleeping.
I would like to sleep with you,
To enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head.

And walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of blue-green leaves
With its watery sun and three moons
Towards the cave where you must descend,
Towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver branch,
The small white flower,
The one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream.
From the grief at the center.
I would like to follow you up the long stairway again and become the boat that would row you back carefully.
A flame in two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me.
And as you enter it as easily as breathing in.

I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only.
I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary. 

I like to write the poems I love over and over again. Typed out or by hand. And really immerse myself in it as I'm writing it. And I believe for just one moment that perhaps I could be capable of producing such beauty too.

The strength to carry on

Some people have called me strong. That I'm brave to have dealt with my life with such calm. I feel like a fraud for it. Strength isn't the reason I can keep going, and treat my trials as if they're nothing. I can deal with it all because for once in my whole damn life, I stopped caring. I stopped caring if I live or die, if it's easy or hard, if it's wonderful or not. I still don't really care. I just do whatever I need to do to feel normal. That's all I ever do anymore. I stopped trying to have aspirations and dreams and fears and nightmares. Every day I wake up and all I want is to feel normal. I go through extra effort, and I exercise, and I drink down bottles of pills and shoot hormones in my veins not to live, but just to feel normal again. Just to feel like everyone else. My radar has shrunk from the decades ahead of me to just the next week. The next day. And what I'll have to do to make sure I don't stick out. That I can make it just one more day without people feeling sorry for me. Without having to feel like whenever I go there's a huge mongoloid following behind me screaming and shouting and throwing a tantrum to draw attention to me.

The downtrodden

Don't give us pity. Nobody wants to be reminded constantly of the things that make our life difficult. We have our own moments when we're alone for that. Give us care and attention. Just treat us like anyone else. Don't be a savior, just be a friend. It's the greatest kindness you could possibly show.

The Silence Between The Notes

I used to think about dying every day. But not exactly thinking. And not exactly dying. I thought about dying everyday in the same way you think about living every day just by breathing. Just by eating and drinking. You do those things just to continue to exist. And similarly at the back of my mind, for everything I did, for every joy and every pain and every excitement and boredom, there was always one question. Why? It's easier to forget to ask why when you're happy. Or at least forget to care. But it never truly leaves you. And at night when all your physical needs have been met except for sleep, it's the only thought left in my head. Why? Why am I here? Why can't I just be sucked into my bed like the rest of my dead skin and hair. Just cease to exist. Why can't I go to sleep and just live there. Not in dreams or nightmares. The time after your eyes shut and your brain flickers off but before your imagination begins. Where you don't exist to the world and the world doesn't exist to you. There's no pain and no joy and no future stretching out in front of you and past weighing you down. As nothing as the space between the stars hanging in the night sky. Eternal and stateless. 

Generation α

With each passing generation, we try to pass on the hate we have for each other. Our ignorance and our insecurities. We load it up on our children like backpacks for their first day of school. But somehow, with each passing generation, they learn to drop some of it along the way. They learn to live with more acceptance, more tolerance. We don't see the change amongst ourselves, but it's there. Across decades, across centuries. It's the only evidence I've ever seen for the redemption of humanity. To keep alive the belief that one day we might just be okay.

Tree Rings

I wish beauty wasn't defined by genes and makeup and exercise. But by how beautiful your soul is. And not the idea of goodness and badness. But beauty of the soul, which is a purely different idea. That you got dimples in your cheek if you really happen to love knitting or going cave diving. That your eyes would become deep pools of black ocean water if you knew everything there was to know about astrophysics. That whenever you smile, you'd have another laugh line for every dog and cat you've ever owned. Or your cheeks would flush if you happen  to be really good at listening and keeping secrets. Or your hips a little rounder, breasts a little fuller for all the years of maturity you have, not the years you've lived. It feels like physical beauty ends up being the opposite of all those things.