touching strings of fragile reality

touching strings of fragile reality

~contrasts of sweet beginnings and good times with the struggles of mental illness and negative periods~

topics of hope vs despair, beginnings while it feels like the world is ending, trying to be "okay" while struggling and sinking—and hopefully, ultimately, the balance that emerges out of it all

~noticing and finding reality when others + your own sanity deny it~

outside of time (pre-napo week)
a. I miss you I miss you I miss you
b. hidden in the riverbanks

are we real yet?
i. on childhood.
ii. tattered wings.
iii. relations and lightness.
iv. maybe caring is hope in disguise.
v. tied beginnings.
vi. search for meaning. (unfinished)
vii.

a.

I miss you I miss you I miss you
playgrounds and grassy fields,
dirt patches where we'd roll around
pretend to be strong
we thought we knew everything
we didn't, but
we didn't realize how precious it was
—we were so precious—
but now the clock is striking midnight
and it's been years
and years and years and years
I can't sleep anymore
those simple kindnesses are all gone
—I miss those dodgeball days
foursquare on the blacktop
picking at the tar
too scared to hang from the monkey bars
—one day, we always said
one day, someday, when we're older
but now we're older
and we'll never get it back
never know
just how precious we were

are we still precious?
how do we rediscover that glow?
is it even still there?

b.

how to hold on to hope in times of despair?
do we search for it?
do we let go of all else
to focus solely on chasing that brightness?

what of those who are lost
forever hidden in tall grass swaying
river rushing so loud
they try to drown their thoughts in it
bury themselves in the banks
sprinkle seeds like something will save them
thoughts unfurl, push up through damp soil
growing only stronger
louder
freer
so they hide in the tall grass once more
and try to lose themselves,
lose themselves in everything
and turn themselves to nothing

if the world was ending,
what would we do?
they ask, but now
the world's ending
and we hide ourselves more

where did our thoughts go?
what happened to that joy?
what of learning, of growing,
of understanding, of empathetic knowing?
when we tried to hide ourselves,
lost and attempting to lose ourselves further
—after all, we seemingly had nothing left to lose—
did we drop our emotional intelligence?
leave it to be swallowed by the river,
buried in the tall grass,
sinking into soft soil?

if so, will it grow?

—what will happen to us
now?
the world is ending and we don't think we know
—are the answers hidden, somewhere?
hiding at the riverbanks?

—will we ever know?

i.

on childhood.
i find myself returning
to playgrounds and blacktop
woodchips frost coated,
graphite smiley faces and
dreams of different worlds

we'd sit on rainbow colored rugs,
waiting for the sun
to come shining behind the blinds
illuminating our papers,
our hearts and our minds
—but now the blinds seem closed
stuck, crusted with glue
we try to pry them open
but we're shut in the dark

—are we trapping ourselves in the past
or forcing ourselves into the future?

—where did our present go?

———

i despair over lost childhood days
mint chocolate chip ice cream and small cares
so tiny, our lives
so tiny, our selves
so tiny, our problems
—the distance now gaping
holes in our hearts
holes pocking our brains and we feel like nothing
—what happened to us,
to who we used to be?

—did we change so utterly,
irreversibly and irresponsibly,
let go of oursevles and our dreams
—or is it that our dreams just
no longer suit us?

—who are we becoming?

———

—once we dreamt of candy-coated somethings
carousels and spinning loops
scared to ride to the top
scared to see what would happen
scared to see anything
—somewhere along the way
did we stop?

—what happens if we fall?

———

we shuffle through rooms like nothing's happening
monotonous, repeated sounds too loud and muffled
sensory overload, blaring alarms,
internal screaming but no one hears it
—who are we?
really, no one knows it

—would they care if they did?

———

crisp leaves and i'm taken back
walking the sidewalks, hand in hand with youth
we laugh about notebooks and all the dumb stuff
scuffing shoes in the dirt, we wait for our past
but it never catches up
to who we're becoming

—it's all just memories
dreams as nightmares
where everything's twisted
walking upside down into empty roads

—who we are
is not what we once thought
we'd end up becoming

—but maybe
that's the beauty of it

—is who we are now what we're meant to be forever?

———

rather than stuck in roles we cannot play
we need to free the past;
we are speeding toward the future but it still clings to our legs
—we must set it free
—we must slow down but keep going...
—we must stop
for a moment
to breathe

—how can we honor our past selves,
please our present and
prepare for our future
—is there a way?

—are we all we are yet?
or are we still getting there?

—what are we meant to be?

———

trying to honor my childhood
and please my present,
not care so much about the future
—for once

we return to the pumpkin patch
we'd visit when i was younger
after years of being away
—i feel happy again,
just slightly,
and suddenly things feel better

—is this the secret to life?

———

i don't know who we're becoming
or how we're getting there
but i think whatever it is
we'll figure it out
—we must be becoming ourselves
after all, who else is there to be?

—we're becoming, somehow

———

somehow
we’re becoming

Spoiler

I wrote this on the 25th (there's a riseup pad I was brainstorming in that proves it) but technically published it on the 26th

ii.

tattered wings.
it is difficult, they say
to fly with tattered wings
you could never do it, they say
for broken things never make it
past the initial checks for safety
we always knew you were crazy, they say
for we could see it from the very first cracks
that you were never fit for this world,
your kind could never stand the harshness
tears drawn at the first glint of metal
any time the sun shines too bright
you could never take it, they say
—and they are right

it is difficult to fly
with tattered wings, so torn by yourself and the world around
but that only makes you all the more stronger for soaring,
for doing it anyway
in the face of despair

—and it is true that at times
the world is far too harsh, far too cruel
for sensitive souls like us
—but that is why we make our own world
and teach ourselves to love, not fear,
and spark kindness instead of hatred

—for what is humanity, if not broken
cracks coated in gold and shining

we are the strong ones,
and that which they could never understand
only serves to make us
more powerful and kind

—i believe we are only wiser for knowing

———

when the world is collapsing
—a feeling, a scream,
but also a physical barrier
something pulling you back as you try to escape yourself
and the fire seemingly swallowing you

look for hope
look for something to keep yourself tethered
something to let you continue growing
toward the moon and the sun

—even when you can't stitch up your
tattered wings,
you can always hold on to something you love
a good happy thought
and let that take you to the sky
where clouds are within your reach
and you can paint yourself among the stars
while still feeling grounded
and safe in your skin

—dreams will take you far, but love will keep you going

———

often that sinking
that compression in your chest
the gnat swarms in your mind
and bee stings in your heart
seems like all you can and could ever feel
—but ups and downs come with living, my love
and some day the bite marks turn to butterflies
and you find yourself flying,
dipping into flowers in the forests
and fluttering among treetops

—you could almost see everything from here

———

they tell us we're broken,
we're not meant to be here
they use us as incorrect insults,
to describe how others are imperfect and wrong
—they don't see that imperfections keep us going
and tattered wings are still beauty
and loveliness made tangible
from gossamer threads
strung together to be strong

—alacrity may not come easy to us
but that does not mean we can't feel joy

—mentality is not our only defining trait, neither is supposed "stability"

———

we are kaleidoscopic
swirling colors and shapes of all kinds
we may be undefinable,
nebulous in appearance and meaning
but i assure you, we know ourselves
—or we'll get there eventually

—what is life without prisms or color,
ambient noise and nuance,
no, this is our catharsis

we think, so we create,
we create, so we think
—and so you think, and they think,
and creation continues

—we are repeated patterns of change
powerful in our weakness,
strong in our sensitivity

—empathy is solidity, solidarity, strength

———

we fly above all,
prisms in wings refracting the light
reframing minds and raining color
we fly so no one else with tattered wings
believes they are broken
—no one of us could ever be entirely lost
—there's always a way back to the sky and the stars
—there's always a way to return to flight
and onward we rush
racing hearts and racing minds
find a home among the twilight shining
dawn and evening and dusk
we rise and shine, no matter what

—shining wings tattered,
hearts and minds entwined are always connected

———

connected and entwined always
are racing hearts and racing minds
draped in shining tattered wings

iii.

relations and lightness.
phosphorescence
a word that sounds like the feeling you give me
gasping and beautiful
complex and confusing, a meaning so
stuttering staggering and studded in beauty
unstopping and light and heavy and lovely
—these feelings are crazy
and so hard to handle
understanding fleeting, fleeing
but so worth it, when felt and finally freeing

—you don't mind that i rarely feel this
and you treasure that i feel this about you

—again, feelings fleeting, but i free myself for you

———

friendship and love should be just as beautiful
too queer for this all but i find myself floating
—you always bring me back down
hold me tight and tell me I'm grounded
—you who are my friends,
my soul specs, shards of me, kind ones and lover
—you bring me in
and i am okay again

—or starting to feel
at least something
once more

—you pull me out of the nothing, and help me make myself into something

———

dullness is glowing
a geode beneath
sand rubbed to glass shards
creating something new
something beautiful
—perfection isn't everything,
and love is never so
it's winding and spiralled and never quite straight
but always the loveliest thing you could ever imagine
and everything you ever couldn't

—it's wonderous how something i feel so rarely,
so sparingly, such sparseness could create space so suddenly
sunlight on shaded leaves and tall grasses
i see dappled gold on pale green and softest yellow
—they say love is red but i feel it's everything
space clusters and star breaks
dust in the air
illumination of everything
and we're always nestled within it

—relationships are hard but
i find solace when their softness shows through

the kinds of the loveliness
embedded in my skin
like gems and shining skies
—it's all i can think of

—the friendships keeping me going are the most precious

———

of course
i hope the loveliness lasts
—when i worry too much
you give me notes of sweetness
cliche but such meaning
calming the storm of swirling thoughts
when they threaten to knock me off my feet

—it's these emotional connections keeping me together
I fear failure but with you it's alright
I can mess up and cry, but the pieces of my soul
are always gently pushed back into place
puzzles solved and you press on my chest
keeping me breathing, keeping me here

—this friendship's for keeps, i know it by the feel

———

—and it feels like a lie to continue like this
singing of contentment and peace when most often i am scared
—the feeling of being a burden weighs me down most days and
i worry nonstop of being an annoyance

it prickles under my skin, the fear of letting you down
i can't hold it in, it leaks like poison
from the corners of my eyes, lakes filling up
with every thought i've ever had
on friendships and loveliness
—where did those elementary days go?
—i am so scared to hurt you all
so the self is the thing that ends up most scarred

—i can only hope you see it,
desperation pooling underneath me
the need to make you feel cared for
the want for you to be seen
lavenders and carnations, violets and roses,
i give them to you all and hide behind the bouquet

you don't see the tears on my face
as i ask if you're okay
—just see me like i see you,
something i silently plead for
yet pray never passes
—care for me in ways i try to for you
something i'm never confident i'm performing correctly

cataclysmic disaster if anyone ever were to watch
and know me so well
i could no longer lie

just, i beg while simultaneously banishing,
see me as you see yourselves
and set my eyes to yours, you'll have it then

—do you see me, friends, as i truly am?

———

the answer is complex
but the truth is you're trying
tears not too much with tears in paper in tear droplets
two + two + however many
we, many, stand together
twined tight enough to allow space to breathe
tentative steps in the right direction
and away from despair

hold on fast,
and we're off on the ferris wheel
that is our lives in this land,
standing at edges and pulling each other close
so we think only of togetherness, of strength
and not of the demons that plague us

—we are one and individual,
different with enough sameness to feel seen
so similar and unique
we, the people who think in rainbows,
critical ideas and empathy
—some favoring the randomness,
others the depth,
we, who feel at home in each other's arms
and in cozy corners of each other's minds

sometimes the feeling brings me crashing
through branches scratching and comments scathing
feeling broken and torn but the tears have stopped pooling
—as much as before, at least
and belonging is just

—they're trying, at least, and that's the most important thing

———

the most important thing is
at least they're trying

Spoiler

I started writing this yesterday but was unsure how to finish it until today. I'm a day behind now, but at least I was able to figure out how I wanted this one to go! Thank you to anyone who is reading these chaotic colored messes XD

iv.

maybe caring is hope in disguise.
feathery soft strings
and perhaps i am stuck
woven web of everything we've forgotten about
everything we haven't said
everything we can't explain
because we feel too deeply for this,
truly

—and when we are not drowning,
flailing and splashing
in never-shallow pools of our thoughts,
our worries,
our unsaid words,
perhaps we are finding a way out

—the search for feeling is perhaps the most important

———

numbness consuming
engulfing though it's nothing
and i can't think nor breathe
—never felt the nothing before so deeply
like it's cutting into me but nothing there
—i use paper clips instead of safety pins
to supposedly dull the hurt
trying to connect and
hold things together
—hold myself together
when i've run out of tape

—too bad we sometimes feel like
destruction is the only way to move forward
the only manner to keep going

—what if we created instead?

———

i fill my room with things that bring me joy
—hope when i am crying and nothing else
but tears and salt water,
scratched up legs holding myself tightly
—maybe if i look hard enough at the glow
the golden tape in patterns on my walls
will tell me the meaning to all this sadness,
and all this emptiness
—stored inside yet unholdable
somehow

joy is found in the strangest places
old books in the library
dark school field staring at stars
corners of the commons during homecoming
places where light and shadow hold balance
—and all that is shining is hope

—i hope all that's left is lovely

———

the more notebook pages i fill,
the more full i feel
—like that hunger for expression,
for knowledge and feeling
has finally been satiated
bit by bit
as i messily write
myself into graphite swirls,
symbols that may fade with time
but retain their meaning always

—they mean everything to me
and if i am in them,
—a revolutionary thought for a torn-up
mind such as this,
—then perhaps i am worth everything,
worth enough to hold value
to myself as well

—writing may be an escape, but it is where i find myself

———

maybe i am nothings surrounded by somethings
—and as you often embody
what you are around, always
—does that mean i'm somethings as well?

as well as everyone else
—not always so but we still are able
to love, to try to feel, to think,
to breathe and to attempt
to be everything we hope for,
to become

—becoming could be one of the most
powerful forms of resistance

—becoming could be one of the most powerful ways of living

———

—may that empathy we carry with us
remain carried onward and true,
extend to ourselves
and everyone around us
and everyone who needs it
—and may it bring us light,
help us feel hopeful again

—i believe caring may be a way
to save the world

we care
and we are daring in allowing ourselves
the space and time to exist
and letting others live
and not hating them for it

—power comes with love,
compassion and caring,
feeling so deeply like we do,
thinking, really thinking,
wondering and pondering
this hectic world around us
and driving, always trying
—we try to improve
and try to care
and try to hope
—and that is living

—life itself is hope in the form of caring and loving

———

we care, we love,
we hope, and so we live

v.

tied beginnings.
Halloween creeps ever closer
—tomorrow and i'm not ready yet
i didn't know who to be,
who i am,
who i'm becoming

what are we,
who are we,
why do we not know yet?

—how did we never know before?
or rather,
—how did we think we knew before?

—how did we expect we knew so much?

———

i find myself running back to the beginning
every time something goes wrong
or every time something scares me
—which is so often it's become my usual state

static, simple, simplicity,
perplex, perceive, pursue,
—but which feels the most real,
is the most real?

i sprint to the end but i'm
running backwards
and not sure if i even realize
half the time

—which direction must we go to move on?

———

sometimes heading back
is more of an escape than one might expect

—we must learn from the past
so we do not doom ourselves,
so we never repeat history
and so that we may learn not only
from mistakes,
but also from what worked

—what succeeded,
what felt right

—how do we find such a thing?

———

and here i am asking questions again
trying to figure out whether
something is worth it
—my past self might have some answers
—my future is sure to, too,
but i don't know them yet
—I must go back to what is known,
try to piece together tangible meanings
from scattered phrases flung
wildly at the wind
to settle on rooftops and in gutters

—in order to start now,
we must look to the beginnings of the past
—perhaps someone floating on a cloud
documenting it all,
has thought about this before

—what can we find from previous thoughts?
—what can we feel from both
past and foreign sensations?

—what whispers of the past can guide us?
and how do we listen?

—what things of value can we be taught?

———

everything started somewhere
—some things simply started more strangely
—chaotic and wild,
running with the wolves
and witches cackling in the sky
—now we claim these metaphors and labels,
twist language into our own
and pick lessons of the past to teach us
—a perfect curation indeed
of things we thought we'd lost
and those we thought we'd never know

—the complexities of it all haunt me
but leave me calm and more contented than i was before
—dehaze an image
and muscle memory taking over


—are our skills reflections of what we've learned, or what we've become?

———

i meant to write on memories of the past,
linking them to current moments
—but these words,
my words,
mean so much more to me now
as they are, deeply raw and unconstrained,
that i can't bring myself to change it

—can't force myself to think,
after all, and skulls filled with flowers
may still be deceased, but are now
full of life, a
—metaphor for memories?

—childhood, it all just falls out
like these words i won't understand for so long,
—waiting for knowledge to return
and to hit,
a thud like peaches
falling from a tree onto your flesh,
leaving your face fuzzy and stinging for days,
yet not altogether unpleasant
—and you don't realize til later
that it reminded you of youth
and caused you to feel, the joy and hope
from fallen peaches

—what am i saying, you ask?
nothing i came here for
and everything that needed to be said

—how do we express such things, any more?

———

it all turns to thoughts
—even when i'm trying
for beginnings

—that time we got stuck in a corm maze
and had to cut through the walls,
stalks and handsome brown-yellow fibers
on all sides, a stiff room of living material,
—and i was too delighted to care,
still lifting up my feat in fear
but not breaking down,
not once,
and marveling at the tallness, the grandness,
chill blowing fresh air and sense and thoughts
into my worrying brain

—lately i've found it hard to stay like this
—but when i sit on a bench in sunlight
it all falls away
until it's just me and the river,
the leaves, the breeze,
the trees stretching overhead and
ink pen scribblings,
three books in a side bag,
voice of nature in a note
—and i am reminded on wonderful things
and possibilities in/for/of
life and the joys/sorrows/feelings
experiences within it

—longer phrases bleed into
filling up a notebook of small blue pages
—and i am hit with watercolor cravings
and thoughts of treasured books from middle school hours

—i don't know what this is,
but it's nice
—and it's nice to feel like feeling,
a word written so often in here
—but still so full of
multitudinous meaning,
becoming inexplicable but abundantly sufficient

—and i end on notes of wonder

———

wonderful, wondrous, wondering
notes and endings to end with (not over)

vi.

search for meaning.
still yet to answer the question
—are we real yet
still yet to figure out
how to explain it

—perhaps poetry is all that is left, all that can answer

———

reality is contained
in thoughts of sunset,
biking up hills in early spring,
classroom windows and dramatic rainstorms,
soft sheets and fluffed pillows,
clovers clipped to glasses,
writing poetry on the porch,
leaf-shaped beads and candy wrappers,
curtains tied with ribbons,
sitting in grass and braiding it,
cat curled up cozy on the carpet,
colored pins and stacked bookshelves,
little things, moments,
waiting around and passing every second,
—living every second

reality awaits in
rollercoaster hills just beginning,
that sensation in your chest,
first loves and first losses,
the start of a school year,
the end of a decade,
lying on your back in a field in the dark,
the last pages of a really good book,
opening notes of the best musical number,
the last film in a long series,
evening walks searching for foxes,
stepping over stones in a graveyard,
those things you anticipate,
those things starting and ending a spark
—pull the Death card, embrace the change

—tie off a bracelet, glue the knot,
tear the wrapper, rip it up
—start and and end that feels final but brings something with it
a new accessory, or
something to consume,
something to consider is
how finality leads to change,
not only total completion

—change is alright, and we must learn to accept it

———

it's Samhain, so i read on
Celtic and Druidic beliefs about death and existence
—they did not fear it,
nor let it sadden them too much
—death is a natural transition
existence continues after death,
and the soul lives on

so how can i be so anxious about everything going wrong
at every second of every day
—when everything is cyclical, natural
and you need not fear the passage of time
because it is normal, and your soul will always remain?

when everything is interconnected, important
and natural occurrences bring no fear,
change is nothing to be scared of

—sometimes we must go back to the past
to figure out how to deal with our present

—this connection must be remembered in order to keep going, keep living

———

there is a balance, in everything
you cannot have shadow without light,
you cannot have hope without despair,
you cannot have warmth without cold,
you cannot have good thoughts without struggle,
you cannot take without giving,
you cannot have nothing without facing everything
—you cannot find reality without doubting it

—if you never wonder, how do you know when you're there?

———

—you need only to think
to really wonder and try to see
—to absorb the ideas, let the material stick in your mind,
roll around in your head and swim in the possibility
that something could be joyous,
or that you have nothing there to fear

—shallow ends hold less
than places where you can't see the bottom
—but if you feel as though you're drowning
and you don't know how deep it goes,
find a pocket of air,
rise to the surface and hold a float for support,
before you return again
and descend into the treacherous waters,
the deepness that is knowing,
searching for what you haven't found before

—and it's not all good
love fades with time,
people forget what they've known,
souls move on,
—but you know they're still out there, somewhere
concepts waiting to be discovered again
and for that joy to be reborn, found as though new
but with the feelings still strong
as existence itself,
strong-willed and lovely
and ever-changing growth

—a search only succeeds when you take the first dive

———

meaning is difficult to find
—but all the more rewarding when discovered

—things like to be found again
hide and seek with a child,
never in the same place and never dull
—sometimes it's frustrating,
frightening, even,
but worth it in the end
to see the smile, hear the genuine laugh
of joy and wonder
—hope in the numbness
as what you seek finds you
and you take its hand

—acknowledge the life the possibilities are for
and search for the one you know feels right
—and even those that don't
—it's good to try,
good to find
that flight is possible wherever
—and reality is what you make it
if only you're looking

—watching, waiting, diving deeper
into ways to exist, ways to belong

———

and ways to belong, deeper and waiting
watching ways to exist