to exist
when i want nothing but love of my own
for myself
some of it,
dedicated entirely to my being,
my skin, by all means

and i feel like this skin isn't mine
like a second layer
some days i dream of tearing it apart
and perhaps finding what i look like
within

is it any different from the other deformations?
do i have it smooth, baby-like, good enough, to be accepted?

had it been all natural,
nature-given, that way i'd have perhaps accepted
alas, knowing it's a play of the world onto me
and in my body,
my blood messing up everything it's meant to do for me
all because of the ones that were supposed to create antibodies

there's this guttural scream that ensnares me whole

where do i go
when i see them fight the demons outside and around
i can't even win the battles that i carry within me, all time round

and i'm on a war with myself
there's rage, there's ache, there's the pain
of when will i accept
i shall forever bargain

why do i even begin to heal if i have to go down the same place
down the same low
the lows hit lower
i see new symptoms, new symphonies of how it could and would
and it does—it gets worse again
and it's a cycle

healing, accept the white little ***** that carry the science of potential magic
put all my hopes, have them disintegrate
go back again
start at the beginning, new dose around—i'm healing

and then i come crashing down again

and it's the nights
and the mornings
that are the worst

both the times, when i should be at my best
i'm battling, wanting to hide and disappear
and wear a snake-like skin on myself

i hate me
and this hatred lives deep within like a monster that birthed itself
out of the normal, the ordinary that i have lacked

there are days where i pull at my roots
watch them fade
watch them fall
i cry and lose hope with every strand that couldn't stand tall
and it's like cemented on me

had it been scales on a snake, i'd have called it flashy
it's disgust that's piled in my eyes, against my being
i see the look on my face
the dead, the dead stares back every time i try to play pretend
and it whispers
it whispers, smirking in my ear

this is what you get

be normal?
oh i would do anything—exchange half my lifeline
if i could live through a healthy half of life
or whatever remains
i've tired myself out of it all anyway

there's bumps
and there's fractures
i feel like it's my own skin that peels
every time i grasp it

and it's visceral
too graphical, no gore however
makes me wonder
how it'd be—moments of softness
where i cherish just me
where who i am isn't my enemy
even just for a breath
i wish to write about that breath

but oh—
imagining is hard when there's nothing left for you to do
the ones living in delusions have thought and wondered if it could all come true
my case is different
so far, years upon years i've been hoping
but the last of this strength, the last drop in the vessel that was given
it might run out as soon as i stop breathing and moping

and i am perhaps the most devastating liar of all
you shall never see me burning myself to the ground
for i'll stand tall through it all
and in front of your lies, i'll deceive and speak my practiced lines
i'm alright, it is what it is—i'll be fine

i won't be. i am not. i'm tired. give me some hope.

i might be a ***** for feelings
and i fear—i fear so loudly in a silence
call me a *******—love is what i want
hatred is all that i got

i have been hiding
and i've been running
and i sat in this adventure ride
never got back out of it

i'm scared
and i don't think i'll get out of this shell ever
so i imagine myself hiding
covered in multiple shells and armors
walls surrounding me, boundaries in the form of
words and my own scars—the ones that aren't even on the surface
protecting me, giving the silent comfort
that they are here, to carry me on, forward

and i've lied so much
i started believing my own lies
forgetting what was the truth
'cause it hurt so much

what do you do when you go down?
where do you go when you are drowning?

quiet is peaceful
quiet is welcoming
like i don't have to perform to exist in here, no
especially the dark
no one can see me
i can't see me
and that's just easy

to exist that way
been felt for, not seen on the surface
not just looked at, but heard
for your voice to find out of your own existence

there's voices in my head
that'll scare you more

what even is there to love
or like?
i see nothing
and on the surface
it's all to despise

show me if there's something
don't tell me it's the heart that's worth it

when you starve yourself for long enough
the void of hunger becomes like it's a normal
the new normal

starving myself of everything
to get used to it the best way
the void, though
continues to grow

i get these random bouts of feeling
such immense loneliness
makes me want to pull in the closest person
hug them tight
take all the warmth
squeeze out my life

i'm layers upon layers
of words and of stories
of people i've met, their memory
and of all who've given up before me
girl in pieces, i shall call myself
would anyone even want me?

The height of the ledge granted miles of visibility, from which I perceived a landscape so barren that decay itself had littered the earth with writings of its famine.
Fixed overhead, the harsh sun exhausted every part of my being as my eyes pooled with gratitude—for I could not imagine the state of my vision had the ground been more solid and hoary.
Abandoning hope of amelioration, I watched as the stone below binged upon the light—reflecting only that which met it between guzzles.
From this binge, a subsequent purge of radiant heat ensued, seemingly serving as a form of remittance to the air through which the energy had initially been permitted to pass.
Tracing the cliff's face, the newly heated air rose in gusts to the point at which it met mine—further immersing me in a growing sum of vertigo.
Overwhelmed, I took a step back and—despite my efforts—still somehow managed to collide with everything existing outside of my posterior. The view of the desert displayed itself to me in full; I saw a place unapologetically indifferent to acknowledgement or understanding.
Haunted by permanence, the thought of the city struck me—and I became overwhelmed by the disparity; I felt myself choke on the recollection of its nourishless bounty—an ever-expanding sea of stimulation, perpetually begging for attention: damning us to be pruned by its abundance while starving in its own growth.
For centuries, a desire for more has given reason to manufacture new means for innovation; and in its wake, it has left nothingness itself—the true logical default—to now stand as one of the few remaining novelties.

I don't
feel anything
at all,
but I feel
it all
at once.
The brokenness,
the misery,
the weariness,
and the shame
are like
being
drenched in silt,
caked in filth,
covered with
life's crud.
I reek
of the living river—
its currents
have carried me
into a sea
of everything.
Now,
I find myself
adrift
in an ocean
of everything
and nothing.

Today I woke into a nightmare.
I rushed out the door, already late for work.
Behind the stream of cars the sun greeted me
with refractive beauty only seen in the greatest masterpieces.
I remarked that my eyes hurt.
the streams slow flow,
Increased my despair.
A twisted metal monolith,
caused the trucks to come in tow.
I drove past a chaotic scene.
I was annoyed at my lack of discipline.
A wayward bubble trapped in a slow stream.
Never wondering how I was supposed to know.
As a well rested wonderer I sat in my chair,
Ended the day with good time spared.
My birthday had proceeded without a hitch.
Neither laid out on a road or sickly in my bed.
The indifferent world greeted me,
with every boon it had to spare

"Real?"
"Sure, why not?"

No
purpose.
Just
stillness.

(presence...)

Drowning in it with you —
no air,
no need,
no expectations.
Just there.

Some questions
don’t
need
answers.

(just presence...)

Hold on, hold on, just hold on tight,
Though all I want is to give up the fight.
To give in — is death, a cold, quiet call,
To give in — is darkness, the end of it all.
To give in — is silence, a breathless repose,
A sea without wind, where nothing else grows.

A fish swims in circles beneath the blue,
An eagle dives down from the sky so true.
Deep under earth, where no sunbeam has shone,
The emeralds grow, in the dark, all alone.

Yet I am the one who must carry this weight,
Alone in a world with a merciless fate.
Alone, I was missed by the God full of flame,
Who passed me by, not calling my name.

I’d trade this cross on my weary chest
For a stake through the heart and a final rest.
Drive something sharp in the center of me,
Let the willow cry by the still, blind sea.

For the soul still reached, though it crawled and bled,
But the mind believed what the light never said
In nothing but sorrow, in fear, not grace,
In all but love, in a godless place.