the disease of overthinking.

Thank you @Spearmint and @Rose <333 Your encouragement means everything to me!!

april 11:

overthinking roads and how cars are going places and the houses that are little shimmers to me.

its already 11pm
but the roads outside of my window are still filled with cars
going somewhere.
and just like the houses that are just little lights
that are just little shimmers in the distance
that are made up of so many people that will never be more than
just people, to me,
i feel small.
i have never had somewhere
that i needed to be
(at least not physically).
there have been many times that others have preferred
i was present,
to help them complete a task for their own gain.
but it is 11pm
and i am alone because there is nowhere
that needs me.
and maybe my poetry sucks but at least when i write
i am not alone like every other moment of my life.

overthinking mermaids and glow in the dark stars and how i have lost my magic powers

as a kid, i wished upon
the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling.
how i wish
stars could be that simple
once again.

i used to collect shells at the beach.
i was a mermaid who got trapped on the shore
and the only way for me to get home
was to sing enchanting songs
of hope and healing and magic.
i cant remember those songs anymore,
and maybe my magic has faded,
but ive still got the scars on my hands
to prove that
i used to be a mermaid.

and someday when im a mother,
ill see my children play,
and maybe then,
ill catch a glimpse of the magic
of what it is like
to be a glow in the dark star-wisher
and a mermaid, one last time.

April 12:

April 13th:

April 14:

April 15:

Forgotten and broken.
Are forgotten promises
Broken promises?
Or are they just whispers
Lost in the wind,
Trees fallen in a forest,
And flames that burn, out of sight?
You have whispered to me
Every word i have forgotten.
You have fallen so many times,
But i never saw you
(so did it even happen?).
And you have been burning for my entire life.
So maybe thats why i never recognized the flames.

Visual version

April 16:

It was only my mothers blood on the carpet,
Because i had already died, years ago.
She never rocked me as a baby,
Instead she left me to explore the limits
And creativity
Of my own mind.
How far was i willing to go
To feel like someone loved me?
As i got older, the idea of who loved me diminished
And rather, it was the idea of how much i felt wanted.
I turned to anyone who was willing to
Spare some change, spare some time,
Spare some touch,
Spare an ounce of love.
I grew, like the raspberry bushes and banana trees
In my grandparents yard.
And when their grey hairs spread over
Their entire scalps,
I also felt old, on the inside.
I had been told that i was mature
For my entire life.
But the little girl who hated hugs,
Grew into a woman too afraid to say no
And too desperate to admit
That i would say yes to anyone
Who tried to love me.
So really, i was alive but not living.
My blood had already been spilled
And i had already atoned for my own sins,
As a babe.
It was only my mothers blood on the carpet.
Only hers, and never mind.

April 17:

the monster in my closet is finally dead.

Today I realized that you
Have spent thousands of dollars,
To make me feel safe.
My entire childhood, I felt unsafe with you.
And so, today, I finally realized,
You are trying to rescue the little girl you never saved.
You are trying to show me that you are changed.
You are trying to make me forget, or move on,
Or understand, that the monster in my closet is finally dead.

And so here i am,
With everything you have ever given me.
And i still feel broken, because every cent you have
Is not of equal worth of the fragments of my
Shattered, aching, little lonely heart
That you crushed with your own hands.

I feel like i am saying hello to the beginning of my life.
Ill be nineteen in four days and i am still scared of the dark
Every single night, because all the things i cannot see
Remind me of all the things
I cannot control.
And for my entire life,
That was
You.

And i love you
So much that it hurts.
But i also remember that past
And that is a different type of hurt.
Its a hurt that lasts forever.
While love only lasts until i forget you.

What i want to say, is that
I forgive you.
I forgive every unforgivable person you were
And every unlovable person who you screamed at me
For not loving.
My heart has been mended,
Only to be broken a thousand times again.
But maybe that is life.
And maybe thats what makes being alive
A journey that is worth living.
I will never be a stereotype
Because of the hell you put me though
And the woman your trauma has allowed me to become.
What i really want to say,
Is thank you for hurting me, i guess.

April 18:

unless its poetry.

All i want, is to be a writer.
I want to write words that heal pains
That are labelled as eternal.
I want to foster emotions, deep in my heart,
Which inspire me to keep going.
Every page i turn is a heartbeat
That is keeping me alive.
And every poem i finish
Is a breath of air to my lungs.
All i want is to be a writer.
All i want is freedom to speak the words
I am too afraid to speak.
Because my words always fall short,
Unless its poetry.