The Caffeine Journalist

I finally bask in the radiance

of accepting the fact that I can be loved.

In my past, pursuits of love felt like drowning in dark oceans

where sharks and minnows nipped at me,

where I was tricked by the greed of sea witches,

where my land-legs were caught and sacrificed for the lust

of mermaids.

But now the love I've learned to accept is a wave

in comparison to those sea storms.

Actual love is gentle

pure

lapping at my toes while my feet kiss the sand.

This love was within you

and it's been with me all along.

The respect was not a synonym for indifference.

The care and understanding was not a manipulation tactic.

And I realize that now because

I realize you

and who you are

and who I'll continue to be.

Receiving love has not just been

the weight of my broken heart removed from my shoulders;

receiving your love has sprouted me wings to fly.

I have finally received the idea of you loving me.

Despite space

and despite time -

after all this torturous time -

I finally finally finally accept the fact

that you might have loved me once.

And the joy is radiant.

This joy is beyond comprehension.

This joy transcends every reality I have ever known.

Despite you not being right here next to me

I am joyous.

Despite the days and months and years

since I've seen your face,

I've come to recognize you and the heart of who you are.

Despite my skepticism.

Despite my cynicism.

Despite my pain and agony.

I realize that maybe,

just maybe,

they're right when they say

some people fear pain,

but I've endured the torment of agony

by remembering your name

and no longer seeing your face.

some people are afraid of death,

but my soul perished a thousand times

each time you met a new woman to love.

some people are scared they'll be sent to hell,

but I've been damned every day of the past 2 years

when I hear your voice

and don't expect you to say my name.

Does this mean I am brave

is to be held by my roots,

then what is forgiveness?

Perhaps it is to be caressed,

and not plucked;

To be respected

In your soul

I beheld God.

In your heart

I beheld purity.

And in your eyes

I beheld beauty.

Behold! -

the love of my life:

So this is the story

of how I met

Dr. Normativity.

TikTok therapy -

oh shit, I forgot I gotta reschedule my therapy appointment because I have practice rescheduled during that time.

Where the fuck is my Insurance Card?? Did I swap purses again, or maybe it's in the middle drawer with all my other important papers? ..

I was really on hold for fucking 20 minutes I just lost so much time I guess I'll have to do laundry tomorrow.

...

what was I saying? oh right -

TikTok therapy has become both my bestie and my worst nightmare.

Every other scroll I'm reminded how badly I need therapy,

and how anxious I am to finish law school to get a good paying job with health insurance to get said therapy.

God I pray I graduate law school. I have so many assignments due - I haven't read caselaw for a month straight in one of my classes

fuck I just felt my stomach drop. How the hell am I gonna have enough time to finish this presentation?! Just THREE DAYS?! Fuck

no no, have to think positive. Manifest. stay optimistic.

maybe I should work on that presentation now instead of reading the case I'm working on? but the case should be quicker - and I need to take a break right now.

anyways.

TikTok therapy; she comes in clutch most times.

I see conventionally attractive people talking about living with ADHD,

so it's not just me,

and it's not something ugly or only for "slow-looking" people -

I feel like I look slow. I move slow, some days I feel like I think slow, but

then I talk fast and feel like maybe I sound, what did TikTok call it? - manic.

But am I bipolar and manic, or just severely anxious?

And this lack of perception is "on-the-spectrum coded,"

supposedly, according to this "self-aware" ableist,

or maybe it's childhood trauma-induced

borderline personality disorder?

My lack of confidence and trust within myself is hella profitable.

The TikTok influencers make ADHD look aesthetically pleasing, their bios have links to their Amazon storefront

where I can "add to cart" translucent pink and purple colored organization carts,

and I can buy an agenda book/planner,

ooh a new shower caddy might be helpful to organize my shit

or no, a makeup organizer would be most practical.

oh shit HOW DID A WHOLE NOTHER HOUR PASS BY?!

TikTok Therapy is so validating for me,

sometimes,

but other times it just feels like these beautiful wealthy white people

know me and have the solutions to my problems better than I do.

College courses in psychology told me this is called

"learned helplessness" -

I've been taught to assume others can help me more than I can

help myself; but then when they don't, I feel like the stupid one.

My point is:

TikTok Therapy is great and awful at the same time...

or maybe the whole point of this is

a self-aware and intentional poem

to portray the irl of living with a diagnosis

that I've only come to understand due to the phenomenon

of everyone saying they're "quirky" too

and that they can help me blend into society

by being more like them

I think maybe I want too many things at once;

like I want to ride the roller coaster for the loop-de-loop

but I don't want to go through that first drop.

I wanna get nauseous

but I don't wanna throw up.

I wanna fall in love

but I don't wanna kiss pavement.

I don't wanna feel

but I don't wanna become

the rumor in yt America

is that Black children are stubborn

and bullheaded.

despite my identity

oft being dismissed as "Oreo"

via internalized racism of my sisters

and externalized racism of my aunts (not my aunties),

I do fit the stereotype;

because of how stubborn I am

to hang onto these unimaginable feelings

I've had for you.

I have grieved you longer than I have known you

sit in the stench of unpacking my moldy baggage

instead of trying to make my past less inconvenient

It's like that euphoric feeling when I got my first tattoo;

the needle burned my skin

and the pain brought the ecstasy of being alive

My shadow is a man

another reason why I choose the bear.

He grips my throat between his cold sharp hands -

I romanticize it; I can be kinky.

he buckles me down with his knees pressing into my chest -

I minimize it; I just overslept.

My shadow is sensationalized by Doechii

and villainized by Billie Eilish.

This is no Peter Pan shadow I want to sew back on to me;

this shadow sticks pins and needles into the pit of my stomach,

threads worrying thoughts between the everyday

and the unlikelihood of an apocalypse tomorrow

to spin a yarn of irrational fears in my head.

Like Peter Pan

my shadow never grew up;

He has lurked since the days of the nightlight

since the days when he made me pee the bed

since the days when I heard monsters scratching my closet door.

Pixie dust is big Pharma and doesn't make him fly away.

My mother was more Captain Hook than Wendy -

she couldn't lay my shadow down with a bedtime story,

and the years continue to tick by

like a clock in the belly of a crocodile;

each year feels closer to the potential for ruin.

Will Neverland capsize and flood from the melting ice?

Will a thimble save my life when arrows strike me down?

My shadow threatens me

with the worst case scenario in answer to these questions.

Doctors have given my shadow a name

and I shudder just to be aware of it:

and with you I died

a different person in every fiber of my being

my own face unrecognizable.

with you I transcended the material world

my scarred flesh shriveled and decayed

only the bones of my soul remained

in the coffin you left ajar.

with you I transcended the consumerism

of love won and lost

of lust accepted or rejected.

with you

I transcended the earth and soared to new planets

but there's no gravity on mars,

and in the euphoria of freedom for my soul

my flesh left with you.

I can no longer hear your poetry

see your smile

touch your heart

taste your empty promises

or smell your pain.

we are like onions with layers, after all.

in my death I found eternity

and in the eternity I yearned to return to flesh and blood

so that I may meet you anew

Like a moth to a flame

I am drawn to your words.

Whether the flame be a candle

or from a match and gasoline,

I yearn to bask in the light of your broken heart.

Poison or passion

I do not care to know.

I yearn for your words

I yearn to hear your soul.

I yearn to feel your heart

even if it fills my own heart with

a surge of hope

or an urge to die.

My chosen ignorance

Like moths we evolved

from both pain and love

and all the lovers and haters

our pasts involved.

My blue of lonliness

your red of scars

We come together and make purple

a dark plum hue

painted in mystery

of sacred intimacy,

hidden in the shadows

in the dark where our secrets lay.

Despite your absence

I call out your name.

And despite your impunctuality

I wait for you expectantly.

Yet still I yearn for you

the way I yearned for home

One, two

buckle your shoe.

Three, four

head out the door.

Five, six

go like my pics.

Seven, eight

not sure if I'm straight.

Nine, ten

if I go to school