the lakes

and i long for the thoughts to flow as they once did, but maybe they flowed better when i had to use them out of necessity. now that i hold on to them without penning them down, they stop and pause and break in between.

would someone give me a reason to put pen to paper once again? this current infatuation perhaps that compels me to let out what would otherwise consume me until it showed on the outside.

and how can it show on the outside when that would be a catalyst that i never want ignited?

it's a vice for some killing oneself is better for others it's relatable for others it's relapse for me

the things people love to do -- paint, write, draw, create, tell stories, build, and everything else and more -- are no longer done because they simply love to. they're all skill sets now.

your heartless ignorance

your narcissistic ego

your family that was never mine

i would burn your shirts now if i could

i ignore all news of you because i can

i hate you with all the passion

my family passed down to me

but you’re still here.

your handprints

your shouts

your escalated anger

your disrespect of space

that i still haven’t let go of

that still make me anxious

that still make me flinch

that i still try to scrub off

i hate that my best writings come from tears and anxiety attacks. i hate that it makes me want pain so that i can write. i hate that sometimes just sharing what i write is not enough. i hate that sometimes i need people to respond to feel like its good enough. i hate that i actually want people to judge what i write. i hate that there are writers who can write in ways i want to but never can.

i hate that i am writing in ways that my younger self never could so i have to love it because she probably would.

but i love doing what i love.

i love writing. i love being able to put pen to paper. i love being able to put words to the things i think. i love writing and finally being able to breathe. i love writing things i will never say out loud. i love writing down what i love about life.

sharing their excitement with their social group when the first rain of the year arrives. displaying things they have created because of excitement with no ulterior thoughts or intensions. pure hearted displays of excitement without anyone to put it out.

the wind blowing the smoke away from your window at night and perhaps keeping those coping habits a secret? the wind keeping the sound of your tears muffled. the wind drying the tears you did not realise were pouring as you take a walk to clear your head and perhaps - to heal.

you start wandering at the top, and just like alice, you're curious and you go down the rabbit hole, but look! stairs -- a spiral staircase that keeps going and going and the light does not get dimmer it just glows warmly - invitingly.

you go down one turn and reach a landing. your happy memories with everyone. you want to see more you go down another turn, and you find the bittersweet memories. why are they bitter? i don't know, lets take another turn to find out. oh this was why, you find the reasons on the next landing.

but whatever brought all this on? you keep going down and find the reason behind the reason behind the bitter of the bittersweet memory. i'm wading through a wreck now, a wreck i made in my mind when i couldn't take it anymore. and now i'm back in the middle of it all. but i don't want to leave. why do i find comfort in this more the weight of everything feels like a heavy blanket that suffocates but also a comforting hug holding me home.

just like her, one foot on the edge, balancing her entire weight on that one foot. her other foot ready to be raised, and then raised, but frozen. not frozen in fear. but frozen because time stopped moving for her. the concept no longer mattered. did she care? did she ever care about the consequences?

she can remember those tears that were so close to the edge but never fell. they caused her so much pain. the lump in her throat, the pain in her chest, unable to breathe, unable to think straight, unable to take a deep breath for clear thoughts. frozen just like her. on that edge.

people who know you won't just listen anymore, not to me anyways. they have their opinions about me. their knowledge of things in my life and will try to justify my feelings or else just tell me its because of one thing or another and i cannot dispute their words because i know that's not the reason, but i don't know the reason, so what do i say?