I wake in the middle of the night and there's not enough air to fill my lungs

I can see the calm but it's too far away

There's enough noise in my head to wake the neighborhood

Scream into my pillow, I'm sure it's traumatized by now

Put my headphones on and force myself to sleep

I wake in the middle of the morning it's like it never happened

There's air in the room

My music is louder than the noise

Being sad is only for the dark of my room

My personality isn't fit for depression

I'm not that girl

I have too many hobbies to be so sad so I just decided to stop

Tears are for pillows

Crying is for your bed

Because you're too happy to be sad

It's. Not. You.

Try living in paradise

Still recovering from trauma

Thinking about the ones left behind



Feeling sun on brown skin

While buildings burn down

Today was like any other



Enjoying cool ocean waters

While salt washes festering wounds

Fresh flesh like grapefruit is pink



Looking to the distant stars

Trampling on growing daisies

Only to lay in a field of them



Howling loud at worship

While fearing the whites of saved eyes

Lift every voice and sing



To dance and to be joyful

While quakes lulls sleeping babies

When the dust settles what remains

As the gramophone in the corner spins Stravinsky
i lie wake in a puddle of my own *****.
I can wash off the smell of pubs and whiskey
but can never run away from it.

As the devil drags me again by my hand
to the tear-stained paper at my old table,
i could tell you that I'm keeping my mouth dry
but you wouldn't believe this fable.

It'd be just not to trust it, there is reason, for
a man who had tried drinking away pain
is a man who'd succumbed to a bottle before
and a man who will do it again.

one eye so nearsighted that i can't see tomorrow/
the other so farsighted i can't see today.

As i am writing this i am drinking my poison cold,
counting on gray hair all the years that are gone

liquor and love are the poor man's gold
and a man's wealth - dying loving or dying loved.

I don't remember if it was happiness
or of thereof lack
but the jack in the box looks
now like a box of jack

The reaper stands outside
But I am well supplied
For he doth not stand a chance
As i flex my wide stance
Reaching ranges with his lance
I stand here, learning how to dance

A core belief is a thing you can lean into with no second thought
You trust in it's way of leading you
Stretching those nerves
cracking knuckles to haunt your neighbor

Pearl bracelet hanging low, not even trying to hug your arm
Calming your fingers from picking at that hangnail
It’s an annoying habit with a millisecond of relief

Blisters from sharpening those pencils,
for a battle with your notebook.
Letters you don't know, when they'll attack, in what shape or form
A blister you'll have to work around, the angst gives you space for more hangnails picking

The space between your fingernail and your next endeavor is a leap of struggle
or a buffet of choices which in all realness is just a lot of overthinking as a slow road to insanity

My core belief is an quivering tree of question marks
I think it represents the mindset
to begin anything with a clean slate

Have no expectations, then you won’t be disappointed
And you get surprised if it's actually not bad
But as an overthinker with anxiety and autism I stand with the quivering tree of question marks
I begin with a silent question, who is even listening

Trying to catch phrases, pauses, looks, body language
And then the quivering tree switches the question marks to nests of information

Mental notes of things I think is important, learning later that I missed the main point
Maybe the jokes lands a bit late
It’s okay, I get there in the end

A tree is a main point for endless branches and leaves
The real gold is the process you can’t see
The roots
The roots with its wings that never sleeps
Constantly expanding, learning and growing even when others only sees what the tree lets it see

A core belief of
a pessimist
a lingering friendship
a healing wound
a riptide

How are we so far apart in this bed?
Sleeping with venom in our hearts
Tension fills the room when we’re together
It’s love and war between us
Since when did we become enemies?
Fighting on opposite sides
Two atomic bombs ready to explode
The battle line was drawn when the arguments lingered long after malicious words were spewed
Like a gunshot what’s said can’t be taken back
The wound stays hidden under layers of resentment
Building like mold until it festers over the foundation we’ve made
What remains is similar to a war torn country.