beautiful things sprout from the most rotten of experiences. I believe this more than anything, but it is hard to remember when we give in to ourselves and the things we fear the most. I am not neurotic, but sometimes I truly think there is something strange and obscure about this kind of processing— that it is warped in some flower petals drowning in the sea sort of way. I am trying to remember that it is okay to go slow. okay to be sensitive. learning to acknowledge that sometimes I feel hurt from things that are not meant to hurt, and blame from things that do not exist. we spend nights ruminating and internalizing as though they are faults, until we start to apologize for the things inside of us and lose what make us special— not in the get a star on your homework in grade school kind of way, but a ladybug landed on your shoulder and no one saw it way.  I am content in the strangest of ways, I do not think that is contradictory. just amassed in a jumble of weary nights and lukewarm drinks meant to keep our beautiful messes awake a little longer.  I think everyone just wants some validation for the things that they feel. that they are not the crazy ones. and no one is ever all alone. 

wishlist

a place to rest my head
that feels like home

the sun in your mouth
rose and fell
with each utter
of sleepy breath

all of a sudden I am extremely tired again. it is sunny and I am still tired. how do you prove to someone that it has been enough. I have learned so much over the past year and at the same time it hurts so much to remember. nights on the floor. they were the prettiest color. bright translucent aqua in the palm of my hands. I do not want to remember how close. again and again. sun that could not be felt. dancing on my back to feel. streaming in from the windows, daring my legs to move. we double dare you. we triple dare you. it does not matter anymore. it is true but hard to believe. does that still make it true. I think there are many things deeply rooted in us from long ago that we forget are there. I just want to pull my weeds out.

the nights are terrible sometimes. you sit in bed picking at the things that are wrong with you. there is nothing wrong and it is the hardest thing in the world to believe. I want to love the parts of myself that I can only half accept.

it is okay to be sad. it is okay to be sad several times a day. it will pass. it always does. be grateful and capitalize on the times when you feel it in your bones that one day you will be better. even though these parts of you don’t believe. silence them. hush my darling and you will see. I promise you will see.

the world is beautiful
people are beautiful

no matter what
         no matter what
                no matter what

it is difficult to convince yourself to feel something
that you are still trying to fully believe in
erratic is my middle name
and I am trying to make it beautiful
trying to convince myself
it is okay
to still
still 
not be able
to be still
to feel too much
and too little
dejection
does not want to be seen
does not want to be recognized
and becomes more appparent
I feel it in the way that I speak
the way I stretch the o’s at the end of every hello
the way I play with my fingers
the mannerisms
I’m scared to let out too much
and too little make words build up in my throat
remember it is always polite to swallow
things just got pretty complicated
say it with a smile every time and they will nod
as though these five words are sufficient enough
I am happy
I am happy
other feelings like to mix their way in too when they get lonely
everyone gets lonely
but there is no vacancy for feelings
that turn all the lights off
illumination
I promise I am bright inside

how strange it is to feel so much from something as simple as the sleepy breaths coming out of you across the room. this is the best company. there is no doubt about it. the little things are felt the most and cannot be forgotten, like a thousand cranes dropped from building tops, blown across the sky for the world to see. 

my mind goes blank when I try to write. I do not like writing about not being able to write. little half constructed thoughts travel with me to class every morning and I think maybe today will be it. maybe I will write something that will make me feel. blank canvases. blank notebooks with torn out pages. there is nothing necessarily wrong with this. I just want my fingers to dance again

because I cannot dance. I have never been able to dance. my body is quiet and my thoughts are quiet. I mean that in the loudest of ways. there is a difference between being delicate and being fragile. everyone is both in some way, but the meaning is not synonymous.

I lost the thought again.

flower petals. toppling buildings. both of these can make you burn inside.

slowly but surely
said the moon
awaiting the next eclipse
ships will sink by harbor
drowning in the stars
saltwater
swimming through your veins
until you glow inside
for all the quiet seas

I cannot help but think that I have lost the ability to write. that I have lost a part of myself that I search for every night through blank white pages of word document. not today, maybe tomorrow, again and again. it is not hiding in the margins. it is not hiding in the spaces between uncertain words. these words do not dance and these fingers are shy. sometimes it is hard not to be sorry for the ways that we feel, especially when they are things we wish we couldn’t feel. my body is the sea and there are sinking ships everywhere.

it will pass. most things do.

as a child I always thought that sickness would last forever. my forehead burned until it burst into flames and my back would ache. I did not like the way the tylenol dissolved and took control of my mouth. I did not like the way I prayed to a god I did not know.

you cannot build a skyscraper from an apartment complex of broken dreams. not immediately.  you cannot build it in a few days or weeks. maybe not a few months. it will fall over in the 4AM silence. you cannot build a house. fill it with people and it will still be empty. this is how it is. we cannot force ourselves to feel things that we do not feel.

there is nothing to fix of ourselves.  

I trust this world
from the bottom of my
squeaky wooden heart
to break me
as much as it has to
until there is only dust
heaving in and out
of tired lungs
break me
break me
break me
and remember
to put everything
back together
as you found it

it’s too cold sometimes. to the point where it’s almost unbearable. ice trying to freeze your insides but you insist, I am warm. I am warm. you cannot touch me. old habits die hard I guess. I’m not really sure what that means. it only half makes sense. I bought three different kinds of chocolate before the gym today. I’m not the biggest fan of chocolate in large quantities. I’m not sure what I was thinking. maybe variety would be nice. a few weeks ago my psych teacher told us that it’s the stupidest reasoning, to reward yourself for working hard and being healthy by eating the things that’ll send you backwards. I guess we think we deserve it. so many thought processes that make no sense at all. I have so many thought processes that make no sense. they lead to nowhere. my stomach is full of chocolate and it is not a good feeling. but it is Saturday. and Saturday mornings are the absolute best. awaken wrapped up warmly in blankets. it carries on the belief that you can make it through the day. that’s all anyone needs through these cold mornings.

I like piles
of dried leaves
especially the ones
that don’t crunch
they are even more special
too afraid to make a sound
in a world so large
yet still willing
to strip their skin
and bear the cold
in silence

it’s a matter of accepting our shortcomings and accommodating them. not feeling one hundred percent now, sometimes not eighty-five percent, but understanding that it’s a gradual work in progress. it’s nice to have these little moments when you really do believe that you’ll get better. it’s hard not to be impatient and want to progress a little quicker. but it’s okay. that’s what this year was for after all. in the beginning I didn’t know where to start, I didn’t want to spend the days playing emotional catch up. rebuilding. reteaching myself how to maintain motivation and discovering how quickly it could be lost. seeing the word fighter inked across my skin and wondering what it meant anymore. understanding that it’s okay to lose myself and get upset about it. we cannot get mad at ourselves for the environments or situations that we come from. eventually we see the good that stems from stepping back and reevaluating the ways that we react.

I love this book. I love this inky pen. I love moments of clarity because they do not come often. a peace of mind hardly does. but how lovely it is to feel contentment and be okay that it may not last as long as we would like. perhaps next time will be longer. until it grows further, like the belief inside of ourselves that it is possible. it is an ongoing process and there is nothing wrong with that. no more sleepless summer nights. thank you 9am morning cup of coffee.