I can still
feel your hands
on my hips.
I can still
feel your breath
on my lips.
Everything will be
all right if
I let it.
It seems like as time goes by, the world’s ability to amaze me diminishes significantly.
I only remember swift scraps of my childhood but they all have one thing in common: wonder. I went to the Children’s Museum too many times to count, but I was always fascinated by it. I played the same stories with my stuffed animals nearly every time, but they always entertained me. Simple things caught and held my attention: a fire burning in the hearth, the way chocolate melted in the sun. Everything was amazing. Everything was new, no matter how many times I experienced it.
And now, here I am, not even two decades old, having lived only (theoretically) a quarter or less of my life, and I’m already feeling the onset of disillusionment.
Things bore me so quickly. Things lose their sparkle with startling immediacy. I don’t care about how soft a chinchilla’s fur is anymore. Tea is no longer a delight, it’s just something I drink in the morning. Even a hand on the small of my back has lost its inherent thrill.
Maybe it’s unfulfilled expectations. I talk small but I dream far too big. My secret hopes soar far above what is feasible, realistic, and attainable. And no matter how much I verbally beat it into myself that I don’t care, the fact is that I do. It’s hard to be fascinated by something that isn’t as shiny as you hoped it would be.
Maybe it’s desensitization. There’s only so many things I can experience from this vantage point. My sight is limited and I can’t turn my head right now. As a result, I get the same view every day, over and over. And I just don’t care anymore. I’ve stared at it for too long. There’s nothing amazing in it anymore.
It doesn’t matter what the reason is. The point is I’m disillusioned. I don’t care. I’m happy, but it’s the same happy I’ve been for a while, and it doesn’t excite me. Nothing excites me. I’m already living the life I always feared I’d trip and fall into around mid-life, a life of complete lack of thrill, a life of patterns and boring overandovers.
Maybe it’s just how I’m feeling right now. Maybe it’s just the current state of the union. And my inability to rely on my own feelings as an indicator of my personality anymore, that’s a whole ‘nother ball game. But even if it is just a passing feeling, I’m feeling it really hard right now.
If this is how it’s always going to be, I would rather just tap out now.
I want the sparkle back. I want the sizzle and the butterflies and the pizzazz.
Maybe it’s just too much to ask.
Good night.
Feels like a knife is t t
w s i g
i n
around in my chest,
doing an
outdated dance,
with
overexaggerated (e)motions.
Look at all this
s p
a c e
Wideopenplanes
So many miles.
Look at all this space.
The twisting carved out all this room for ache.
Here’s a hint of what’s coming.
—-
Remember that night
Windy but star-studded
And I read out the
c on st el ns
la tio
You told me you didn’t know them,
And you asked if I was crying.
That night
Windy but star-studded
I saw it, once again
Spelled out like the c on st el la tio ns
Permanent as the cosmos. I saw that
youandme
are soon to be
you me
Look at all this space.
—-
Goodbye to the and,
Goodbye to your hands,
And your lips and your eyes,
Your head on my thighs,
A premature farewell,
Before hell.
Late start,
Early finish.
Look at
All this
Spa ce.
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧.:*☆.。.::･ﾟ✧*・°★☆.。.:*・:･ﾟ✧°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ `*:;,．★ ～☆・:.:･ﾟ✧,;*☆*:･ﾟ✧.:*☆★.。.:･ﾟ✧:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・:･ﾟ✧°☆.。.:*・°☆ `*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,:･ﾟ✧;*☆★*:･ﾟ✧.:*☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ `*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*☆*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ★✧:･ﾟ✧.:*☆.。.:*・°☆.。:･ﾟ✧.::･ﾟ✧*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ `*:;,．★ ～☆・:.:･ﾟ✧,;*☆ have some sparkles and glitter
brb showering
Sometimes when you’ve fallen asleep and I’m still awake I think about [later].
Is this what it will be like?
Will you fall asleep while I stay awake, waiting and waiting for something that’s never coming?
Will you float on while I struggle through [later] without you?
Will you fall into angel-sweet cotton-candy dreams as I stay awake in the darkness
alone?
I didn’t sign up for this.
Poetry slides onto my plate
And dances with my forks and knives
So that I may not carve it.
This once put me off:
I used to devour,
Swallow whole what resists the piecing
The picking apart.
Now my palate is sensitizing
And I taste it delicately.
The more the flavors and aromas
Permeate my literary tongue
The more I am convinced:
The works of Emily and Robert,
The skills of William and Theodore,
Are nothing within my wandering reach
Are nothing less than
Divine.
I love you
no not true
is it? I want you.
that’s not love
says Wellness II
But I might
but I can see
lifeafteryou nonono
I don’t want it though
No one cares about
things that don’t concern them
If I didn’t smile at you
would you love me?
Would you slide my dead arms
into sleeves?
Who am I writing to?
You, you, or you?
I have so much love
So many people
I can’t kiss
the world
Kiss the world
a beautiful thought
FUCK BEAUTY
It’s not
me.
