Hallo

I treat you better when I think you hate me

Because I leave you alone

My breath is hot

My nose filled with snot

I leave the air exposed

-

To foul ideals and ideas

I store deep in my heart

Being vulnerable, for me

Is no art

-

It’s an explosion

An opening of Pandora’s stupid box

It’s allowing myself to be a bother

Allowing another opportunity

For my hear to further rot

-

Because truly

Truly

I am drowning

I have been for years

I’m not sure what will help me

So

I act as okay as possible

Out of love

Out of fear

-

Ultimately it comes down to

I don’t have anyone to hold me

Who sees who I really am

I thought I did

But I think they hate me now

And I don’t want to make them sad

-

Do I need to grow up?

Be okay on my own?

Maybe

Yes

But as someone with so much to give

It feels like a joke

-

Aren’t humans,

The mammals,

Social creatures?

When were our ancestors

Alone?

-

It doesn’t feel good

And I know my brain is fucked up

I get manic

Sometimes I really want to kill myself

But I won’t

I don’t

-

But for who?

All the people

Who can’t handle my truths?

What can I do

To save myself from drowning?

-

I write

I see a counselor

I do

I go

-

But all I want is someone

To hold me

Who doesn’t feel better

I love you with my whole heart

It hurts when you touch it without care

The fibers coil up like dead skin

And the stickiness leaves residue, I know

-

I take it with me everywhere I go

I use it when I’m with you

I’ll toss it around

Throw it, make it stick to the wall

And wrap it up gently when I’m done

-

I love you with my whole heart

It’s torn and stretched and bleeding

Probably always will be

But that just means there’s more there

-

I have to take it with me everywhere I go

I hide it under my shirt

It’s throbbing and I can feel the heat of it

But why would I take it out?

Does it really need air?

-

I love with my whole heart

It goes where I do

It hurts and drips and sags,

Hello?

--

-

--

-

--

No one hears me

Because I say so.

My moans no more than

Broken waves

To the ears of others,

I’m sure.

--

No one stores love 

For me

Anywhere I could find.

I will never find it,

I know.

--

I am alone,

Where 

Could I possibly

Find it,

In an infinite sea

Of things

To navigate.

--

What good is it

To go on

Alone.

So thirsty

For something,

And damned

From inside.

--

It can’t be found;

It only appears

Elsewhere,

In another

State.

--

So

Can we escape?

Well

I’ve not yet tried.

--

I don’t know 

The answer,

I’m sensitive

Damaged

Dark and missing

-

Aged

Like rotten grapes

-

Misfit among misfits

Among misfits

-

Why do I want

So badly

-

To be tasted

Chewed

Swallowed

-

Shat out

-

A misfit

Among pure shit

-

I ooze uncomfortably

As I sit

-

I want to be solid

Easily passed

Out my own ass

I’m really trying to figure myself out. I’ve spent so much time trying to figure my life and the world out, that I neglected to care about myself. I neglected to think critically about myself, leaving me to only reflect when other people react to me. This has led me to a fragile state of being, in which I am constantly juggling a light, breezy happiness and a dark, sticky self hatred.

Because, what are reactions from others but echoes bouncing off odd shapes? How can an output based on input I put out give me anything about my inner workings? I have a core. I have a truth. I have a stream of consciousness that I base every other thing off of. I contain something that only I have the power to truly define and accurately place in the world–myself.

I know what I like and dislike. I know what I value and stand against. I know my history. That’s about it. 

A note 

I’m not sure how to say it

If you heard it

You’d understand

-

If you can’t read

A knife

Sharp enough

To slice

To puncture

- - 

What is bound

Does not matter

What is protected

Exposed

- - 

It swings 

Because of a lever

A switch

Turned

- - 

The fulcrum

The elbow

The switch

Delusion

- -

That we are not

But simple machines

–

I feel

One hot summer’s day

On a cool summer’s morn

A little girl

Was born

—-

She grew up

But not like all children do

She saw a lot

Realized few

—-

She wanted always nice things

As in good

She wanted so badly for nice things

No one understood

—-

Then one day

It doesn’t matter what kind

She grew up a little more

Her life redefined

—-

It became clear

She had not only been deaf

But also

She had been blind

—-

She sees the stains

Shocked and confused

To go from being happy

To realizing the abuse

—

These spots are neverending

Her bleeding heart massacred

She knows what it means now

To be heard

—-

That’s right, heard

Not held

Not helped

But heard

—-

The minimum and the essential

The place where to belong

Now that the muck is so evident

It’s hard not to feel wrong

—-

So her glow is for others

Maybe tragic, but I don’t think so

Because she always listened to herself

I wither

Wasted

In tomorrow’s hue

Eradicated

Ripe

- 

Soaked

Saturnine, oscillating

Actively kept empty

Defunct

-

I drench myself

With intake

Seeping, spilling

Under pressure and tread

-

Wet and dead

Like Winter rolling into Spring

Soon I will be

New

All I see is figures I need to find a new place to drown

All I see is lights Going somewhere I don’t want to go

All I hear is me An arena of murmur

All I hear is wind My ears like conch shells

All I feel is heat From below, above, inside, around

All I feel is dark Trying not to be swallowed, I look up

I try to write german poems and stuff too. Here’s a lil one

große gelbe Stern über mir während ich geh immer zur Arbeit

From 02.04.2015. The sheet is lost, but I expected that and have this instead. Missing my old roommates today

To the Filthy Few:

Dirt seeps in Wherever we are

Dirt underfoot Dirt in the skies Dirt in the seas

Dirt seeps in Then why Do we all try to be so Clean

Wiping hands Telling the bright stories Cleaning surfaces Making the good choices

It takes great people To let the dirt seep Let it soak Let it steam

The paint slaps me in the face The pain does too I think the name of this place Should be more cynical

The people helping me are truly people Though it’s hard to believe Through their warped, painted masks And the humanity that they grieve

It’s not their fault Nor their progenitors either We live in a dark world Painted brightly by foolishness Adorned by power Embellished with tradition

I don’t know Where I fit into this Or even how Yet, I am here And traumatically aware

The pink walls seriously tho Are personally accosting me The idea of femininity And softness and beauty Being shot from cannons Into my head My face

A Short Story.

The wind is something I appreciate. How the hell does it work? I can feel it swirling against my skin, through my hair, around this balcony, and it feels so freeing! The realness of something that is also not quite tangible is fascinating. I’ve been all over the world and the wind has done that times infinity. That’s all it can do. Blow or not blow. I’ve blown dudes and done blow but never have I just blew.  I wish I could.

I’m in a swanky hotel in Berlin right now. I don’t know why I want to stay inside, but I do, and I am. It’s a perfectly sunny day. “Schön” is the German word, pronounced kind of like “shurn,” that means pretty or nice, and I think it captures the quaintness of a bright, warm day better than English does. English has a lot of great words though. I don’t mean to discredit English.

Hmm.

The TV is glistening, laying dormant on the night stand. I would try and watch some shows but I already know what is waiting for me on the other side of the screen–various German-dubbed awful American sitcoms. The Big Bang Theory is huge here. And coincidentally they have a much higher percentage of the population that actually believes in the Big Bang Theory. Ha! No disrespect to our Christian scientists though. They have a right to be heard too, I guess.

Aaaahhhh.

I look down at my feet on this nice wool carpet. I tense the joints in my toes and watch as the tan color of my skin goes pale in parts, while in other places gets dark as they fill up with blood. Evolution is craaazy, man. Yeah, fuck Christian scientists. They’re holding us back. GET EDUCATED BETCH! Just kidding. But you understand.

UGH.

What should I do today? I hate being locked into my phone or laptop, and I get bored of it very quickly. There’s so much to learn and see outside this hotel, but I would argue there is an equal amount on the inside. My big toe on my left foot has exactly 11 hairs on it. That’s something I just discovered. I could see parts of this hotel I’ve never been and get lost behind the scenes and explore. Yeah!

Yeah.

Who am I kidding? That’s not a practical plan, hotels are everywhere, and I’m in Berlin. I am leaving.

~~~~~~~~~

The comfort zone is the most dangerous zone in which to be. I’ve thought this for a long time, and I’m just now realizing that even I have been living in my comfort zone; even if mine is an intense, unrestrained one.