Tell me,
How do you walk
With all of that pain?

You move on this earth
Steady, going
For so long now
That you believe
This is
A part of you.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

It sits, quietly
Draining your will,
Your connection.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

It sits, numbing
Out feelings,
Causing friction.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

It sits, waiting
For your eviction.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

So locate it, banish it.
I promise you, I swear
Oh, precious one,

You'll find that 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.

▪︎ mica light ▪︎

Can we talk about the word trigger
Because people are dumb
Teenagers say they are triggered when
They don’t want to write a paper
They miss a goal in soccer
They drop their phone
That is called being annoyed or disappointed
That is not triggered

A trigger is an emotional allergy
Some that triggers distress or panic
A trigger is loud noises cause a panic attack

If I could be He,
I'd grin ear to ear.
I'd laugh with a new voice,
and sing with boisterous cheer.

If I could be He,
I'd dance the night away.
I'd twirl around a girl,
and ask her if she'd stay.

If I could be He,
I'd no longer have to bind.
I'd lay shirtless on the beach,
and leave bottled messages to find.

If I could be He,
which I might never be,
I'd be eternally happy.
And I'd finally be me.

all of my nightmares are becoming half-realities
and i am the only person chasing them
i'm waiting on too many half-answers
on things i can only half-see
i feel only half-me

There is a boy in my closet
The boy is friendly but stays hidden
When I look in the mirror there he is
I became jealous of who he is
He says he wants to come out  
I decided to ignore it
But the curiosity grew bit by bit
Until I could barely stand it
"CUT YOUR HAIR"
But when I went downstairs my unapproving mother stood there
The boy wasn’t at ease with what our plan began to be
Because in reality, the boy was really me
But all people can see is she
That part wasn’t cut out for me
I don’t understand the big deal if I'm a he

Eve is walking up some stairs,
he imagines falling off,
and then part of himself does.

from then on he can’t tell
whether he’s at
the top or the bottom
or the bottom or the top

“where is my head?” down there
“where is my child?” nowhere
he carried him like she carries him

black hair. blue eyes. tan skin.
different but the same.
Eve turns the corner and takes another step
upwards.

my skin is a mask
restricting and choking me
as I try to move