crying sometimes but that's Tuesdays happy tears melt my cheeks these warm afternoons with two couches pulled together for naps naps that help me understand why there's puddles after rain doesn't it want to be free? didn't it leap from the sky to escape? how I wish I were as strong as water; never damaged only ever tampered
Note: there may be more sensory overload poems as I STRUGGLE to portray it in a way that works/feels right.
sensory overload & regret
ouch the pain, breathing too close a whisker- stabbing me the lightest pressure. voices on repeat softly agonizing me I seem crazy in the skewed reality from this fish bowl. don't tap the glass please I don't like looking like a little girl separated from ritual, security, teddy bears...
winter has grasp of me lately prickling my nose with frost bite cracking my bones as it freezes and thaws I delighted in the cold once tiny and frail yet barefoot in the snow crystals sparkling on my toes; flakes so delicate drifting and playing around me singing in the silence of the alps so peaceful my hidden treasure home. but now the wind rags on me scraping my skin raw lips peeling, bleeding hope fading with every agonising step boot strings weighed down by ice-balls dragging me into a sub-zero grave...
and it has me wondering; what's making me colder more susceptible to subtle changes in temperature? I don't want to freeze. take me back to when I prayed for snow
i had a dream that i was a monster and it made me numb-ber my thoughts. keeping track of each and every one of them lining them up for role-call and i discovered a plethora of secrets between the folds things i've been hiding from; whimpering in the corner I asked: "hi are you supposed to be here?" and they said "where's the box?" and i was about done with secrets so i gave it it's box and said "you can go hide somewhere else, you, this is my here consciousness and i don't want bad memories parading around as dust bunnies" and it left and took all my memories of Oreos, but that's okay because now I can recite my favourite peanut butter cookies recipe by heart
Spoilered because sorta mention of self-harm... but it's not really meant to be self harm- it just comes across that way at first I think.
5/30
needle work
Spoiler! :
she stabs herself with the darning needle several times a day but it's an accident- she doesn't even need to tell people because it's an accident. she remembers to keep her stitches tightly intertwining behind each prick that dances out in vibrant colours of a garden, but the blood drips steadily onto the muslin and with time the bright red fades to rust that corrodes her threads and she's left wondering why she took up embroidery
giggles echo down the hallway I want to follow them but I'm frightened laughter so infectious bringing memories of lighter times with popsicles and sticky fingers explorations in the garden building toad houses and watching bumble bees tumble past... it feels like they're just around the corner but it seems that melancholy is sticking around for longer than expected
My hips are tethered to the cushion beneath feel the weight of your body, that contact to the fabric but I'm not meditating on the things I'm suppose to; the day is filled with to-dos and I can't move starting to become aware of your breath, how it skitters and jitters through your respiratory system it's so close yet I still can't see you memories are our worst friends now forever wanting things how they always are when you feel comfortable, you can open your eyes now okay. we can do this.
something happened that i didn't anticipate control is hard when you don't know where you are and you hear ringing and it feels like the sky is staring at every pimple at the way your body wobbles with every step oh to make this look normal, oh to maintain the facade.. it sounded like my ear imploded and I thought about it for sometime and it reminded me of the summer I turned eleven.
she sleeps on the moon with a keen sense for tide; like her dreams, flowing to the next and when you wish a whisper reaches her to tousle her hair and make her raise her eyebrows still unconscious but fully aware and ready to send every request to the moon
By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return. — Genesis 3:19
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