Down here, Near the equator,
The moon looks like
The cheshire cat’s Smile.
.
And when we see his cheeky grin,
Things are okay
Just for a while.
Category: Writing
FALLING
They call it falling
Because being in love
Means loosing
The ability to fly
‘PRETTY’ SAD
The flies buzz around the living room, landing on my laptop- on my skin. It’s almost too easy to ignore them. The early afternoon heat seeps into every muscle of my body, rendering me ‘useless’ for the day. It’s easier to sit around and contemplate my sadness, then to get up and do something- anything.
‘Sadness’ I guess isn’t quite right, but I don’t have the energy to try and find the words to properly describe it. Still, I can tell you what it looks like. It looks like a Tumblr dot com post from those melancholy high school days. It’s aesthetically acceptable eye bags and hauntingly hollowed out cheeks. It’s pointy elbows and prominent collar bones, dusty pink that peaks though all the monochrome. Just typing this up makes me want to put on Marina and the Diamonds- or the 1975.
Maybe if they hand’t taught me, my whole youth, that my particular brand of sadness was desirable- romantic somehow- a pre request for great art, maybe then I’d have a better chance of escaping it.
LISTEN
How long can a person go
Without being heard,
Before it drives them mad?
.
How long can a voice
Fade into nothing,
Until its host follows?
PROTAGONIST
As we where walking along the sandy road I asked him to “tell me something nice.”
Instantly my mind conjured up this idea of a ‘Great American Novel’ in which the protagonist recalls how ‘towards the end’ his ex used to often say: “tell me something nice.” That experience would then go on to inspire the protagonists growth, around which the novel’s plot revolved.
Honestly, what a load of bull shit.
I refuse to be some cliché of a girl who’s tragic story is for some reason best told from the perspective of a man. I refuse to have my pain be the catalyst for growth, rather then my wellness. My story isn’t somebody else thinking about ‘what I could have been’. It’s me being.
A DYING FLAME
Up above, the starts shone bright
With the only light to dim them:
A bonfire fading its way to a memory.
.
When we danced in it’s dying glow
Time folded in on itself
And we kissed like brand new lovers.
Camping
From inside the open tent
We where both
Astronauts and
Deep sea divers.
ECO ANXIETY 1
When I told the therapist, I desperately hoped would work out, that I struggled with eco anxiety, she asked me to elaborate.
So I told the her, that I couldn’t stop thinking about climate change, and that that years exceptionally hot summer was a constant reminder that things where getting worse. When that very first session was over she gave me an assignment. To tackle the anxiety about the globe heating up, I should look into getting an air conditioning unit.
That therapist didn’t work out.
MY COLOR
I’ve seen the way
Loving you
Looks on people
.
It’s not my color
ICARUS
Being too comfortable in the water
I didn’t notice I was drowning:
An Icarus, who dove too deep.
.
Now I look up at the surface
Glistening with abandoned potential,
Helpless as I wait for sleep.
Writing Things Better 