untitled 2 6.20.25 (3:46 pm / 15:46)
you said
i want to make her cry
PLEASE
i haven’t cried for real in so long

drowning 6.20.25 (3:39 / 15:39)
drowning drowning drowning
flailing failing failure to surface on an endless
sea
of sad dark and death it’s all in my head i think
i think yes i’m right for once
it’s all in my mind and nothing is real
except the dark

drowning drowning can’t breathe
i’m going to die
g a s p  of  a i r
it’s momentarily bright
and then i sink
back
under
the sea

The car ride home felt like a crawl across a ground made of nails. I listen to one song, thinking I could write a whole book from just that feeling.

I look forward to long car rides so I can listen to music for hours. But the thought of him, and the weight of his sighs, blinds me from even enjoying the silence in my own head.

I can’t tell if I’m thinking… or slowly rotting.

As we enter the tunnel, I feel his eyes peeling the skin from my bones, telling me I am home, yet I felt his heart was covered in rain. It doesn’t let me in.
As we exit, it feels like a break-free, but I’m still stuck in the middle. Am I free? Or Is he? Or are we simply lost?

He drives away from his truth, taking me with him in his front seat, leaving me to witness his colors under the ever-present moonlight. He drops his sighs like a cold drink on my thighs.

Love once opened the door for me when my hands were cold. But then love slammed it shut, right after me. It makes me wonder; Was it for me… or just for the motion?

Love holds back his words. Love is a black berry; bitter and unripe, unwilling to be digested, poisonous and rough, it is the deadly leap in my heartbeat.

And I was there, still in his front seat, carving away at my own skin, trying to shape myself into whatever he needed, until I had nothing left for me.

I sat in a spiral and asked myself, Is this who I want to be? Until I realized, love isn’t unkind. Love isn’t rude. It’s just an unfamiliar name, love letters kept in old pocketbooks, unheard and forgotten, once lost to make space for another.

All this searching, all this crawling,
only to find out;
Love was in the front seat all along.
Love was me.
It was never the blackberries under the moonlight.
It was me,
and the heart I buried
to carry his.

- Ulia Georgina

Heart racing
Limbs shaking
Ears throbbing
Stomach revolting
How do I just calm down
And stop thinking of it
When all I can think is what if

I can’t breathe
I can’t stay at ease
I can’t just let things go
Because anxiety won’t let go of me

I stop talking to everyone
I stop going out
Maybe it’ll make me feel better
But anxiety is getting the better of me

I’m losing control
Why can’t you see it
Maybe it’s just in my head
But why does that make it unreal

I am but just a slave to my anxiety
And I just can’t get free.

Black girl blues
What to do when a black girl has the blues?
What if her mama has them too?
So quietly weary but louder than we hear
Only her daughters get to feel the pain of her fears
What if her sister has them too?
When she’s bared it all and still tries to be soft
When she’s playing peek a boo with her childhood,
Sometimes you see glimpses of where her innocence left off
When survival kills innocence and all too young you know this sadness
They say it was your choice,
I can only assume my niece will face the same madness
And probably my daughter too
Oh so resilient black girls, oh so resilient blues
Our imaginary friend,
Even when they see only we can understand,
Sad black girl
Sad brown eyes
they see lies in your tears when you cry
They see rage and anger, hell if it’s earned
We mask, hide, shrink to not be the ones who turn
Dark, ugly, battered, beaten broken,
Sweet black girl it’ll get better,
May your heart remain open

When does the film begin
when does the film begin
           I've been waiting so long
          with a bowl of popcorn
When does the film begin

When does the programme start
when does the programme start
         I'm in theatre one
         where the curtains are drawn
When will the programme start

When does the film begin
When does the film begin
        I've turned off my phone
        now I'm sitting alone
When will the film begin

First act!
              Second act!
                                Third act!

When does the programme start
When does the programme start
        Your story's done
         Mine hasn't begun
Oh when will my programme start

I want to tell someone
I want to be proud
But I’ll just be a joke
I don’t want to feel bad
I can’t help it
I’m happy with myself
I want to be happy with others but I can’t
Because they’ll just make it a joke

I love her,
But she says things like
“Oh no, a 97. Are u going to cry?”
I’ll bite my nails til they bleed
Stay silent

But, it’s like-
yeah.
maybe I will.

It grabbed me again, that feeling.
bare neck
it dug its claws.

Deeper and deeper,
it consumes.

Inside me,
A tunnel filled with cars
ramming into each other—
one after another,
one after another
they hit,
they break,
Producing bangs
that flood my body.

Clawing at my own skin
to remove them,
“I just want them out” I say
but my body doesn’t listen.
My mind ignores me.
And it just builds.

It grabbed me last year, that feeling.

A stress,
A draining anxiousness
******* nutrients from my roots.
Kolding back the words I needed
to get me out
to let me grow
from the rooms
that confined my mind.

Aching pains
that stretched me
between all these worlds,

“Am I good enough?”
“Will I disappoint?”
“Why will I never be good enough”—
a thought that lingers.
“Why do I like nothing about myself”

This feeling,
This nagging demon,
This tunnel of cars
that won’t listen
to the stop
that I shout,

this draining anxiousness.  

Please—
Let me go.