"More", Again

I guess we’ve all been attached to the word “more”. The idea of seeing more, having more, being more. Satisfaction isn’t a feeling we’ve been engrained with. But what we’ve always been endowed with is energy. And it’s what we put our energy into that essentially constructs us. We can spend all our lives sculpting something that is permanent, so that it’s thighs are thinner, that it’s face is clearer, so that its nothing of it’s original state. But what we’ll end up with is a corroded and rusted statue that’s been drowned in glitter in hope that the sparkles fill the darkness that persists within the hollow structure. And we become bounded by the pearl necklace and adornments. It’s when we try to be more, that we become of less use. But, we could preserve the roots and let ourselves blossom into a thing of beauty that, with light of the sun, will never loose energy to keep growing. That captures every opportunity the wind blows and strength the hurricane evokes. That will benefit the world. Don’t seek to be more, seek to simply blossom.

I can't talk to anyone so I blog my secrets to anonymous online readers

1. I don’t think I’m pretty. I don’t think I’m cute. I don’t think I’m sexy. Or attractive at all. I've started to deny my hunger.
2. I feel useless, worthless, and helpless.
3. I’m cynical almost all of the fucking time. I don’t take really anything seriously anymore.
4. I do not trust many people. If any at all.
5. I’m very stubborn. It takes me a little while to warm up to things. I won’t always be willing to give your shit a try. 
6. I'm not always the most caring person, because for so long no one has cared about my shit, I've learned to not care about yours.
7. I do care about certain things. My interests. Obviously.
8. I’m not a fucking ray of sunshine all of the time. My attitude sucks, and I need someone who fucking understands that. But I get it. Who wants to be around such an unpleasant person?
9. I stress out about everything. I’m always stressed, despite how great I hide it. I will crack every once in a while, which is happening to occur more and more frequently (sorry). Just do yourself a favor and fuck off when I’m in that sort of mood.
10. I sit silently through my tortured nights, my dreams repeating themselves over and over and over. I can’t escape from the hell that is my mind, so I wallow in sick insanity and pretend I'm fine.

hands
   and
eyes
   and
lips
   and
thighs
   all
wrapped
   and
tangled
   and
tingling

doneeeee

From where these hobbling sticks do strain to stand, 
I find myself unable to stargaze, 
for something more than city smog 
obscures my farsighted eyes. 
Crystalline twinkles do flee, 
and I chase comet tails, 
though much to my dismay, 
they remain like the nymphs
so elusively far,
as glistening bodies do in
faraway shades so unlikemy solitary seat.

“Hello, you’ve reached…”

I held the phone back from my ear and just stared at it, unsure of whether the voicemail greeting was the echo of a promise broken, or just an inconvenient moment.

It’s funny how hope can be turned to dust with just three words.

I hit “End” and smiled bitterly at the connotation.

Peachy

Isn't life funny
how some days
you know with confidence
that you
are the peach,
sweet and full of
life
while on others
you suspect
with quiet apprehension
that instead
you
are the bruise
that is so
carefully and
meticulously
eaten around

I'm so scared my depression is going to beat me again

I've found myself in the sea, again. Sorry. How many times has it been now? Whenever I’m out of ideas about the sky or time or anything else, I’m tossed back into the ocean to either drown or draw a way out. Or both. Because I lean on waves to carry me. And the moon to hold my head above the water. But I’m tossed back and wading so often, it must bore you to read. I’m sick of it too.


Maybe I’ll just quit reaching for kites since too few have passed as of late, and forget about the air, turn my palms to the seafloor. And grasp at crescents of sunlight, long sunken and silent. Maybe I’ll just quit the air, at least for a little while.


I’m going to need a mermaid. I’ll need their lungs.
But they probably won’t come.
They’ll probably be climbing a cliff.
I wouldn't want to be around myself either.