Poems n' shii

I am made of stardust

Bumble bee intuition

The wisdom of flowing water

Free as the wind

Just a magic carpet ride away

From the next flavor of wonder

Whether we are asleep or awake

The magic is happening

Within and around us

All at once

To deny our power

Is to deny our breath

AAAOOOOOOO ! 🐺

Be. Unclench, let yourself take off.

The broomstick

does not require synthetic fuel

It just knows how to fly

The alien empress needs no approval

The spider

Weaving its webs across dimensions

All interconnected

My shoulders carried entities

I did not invite in

But enter when we shrink

Out of fear, self doubt, forgetting our power

My skeleton has been reshaped with loving artistry

A gentle call to own my voice

To surrender to the yes

And enter every room with an open heart

Trusting in my role to create

Uninhibited

by that which never belonged

I am lonely and horny and complainy, but the moon that I couldn’t see outside is apparently full tonight and this still gives me a spiritual tickle to acknowledge.

I touched 4 trees on my walk. One of them smiled and waved.

The others spoke to my fear asking why do I still imagine the worst of a parked car and call myself brave as I speed walk past it.

It’s a weird thing being a woman.

I imagine that genderless beings don’t consider what could be done to them without their consent.

How often we placate the person in front of us because it’s easier.

Avoiding the pain of speaking our truth and being twisted and inverted until the only thing you feel is foolish. What did I think I would achieve?

It isn’t noble to say things that people will not hear. What do we listen for then. If not how to use their words against them.

It’s casually telling how the curvature of the same path is decorated with decay when you have more to let go of. More to accept. More to honor.

Everything is temporary. Except for truth.

Whatever is just is.

Even when the loudest throbbing is the isn’t.

Especially then.

I created a future with a pretty girl

a love that only existed in my mind

I wanted to be a dreamer

Brain said no, heart said do it anyway

I even wanted it to hurt maybe

But not like that …

I wanted to feel the ache

the hurt of we can’t stand not being wrapped around each other any more it doesn’t make sense to my body not to be touching yours

I wanted to brave the storm of pining from a distance and reminiscing what your hand felt like in mine and booking flights and sending flowers because you like yellow ones and I want to make you smile

tough to know we throw it away at lightning speed

This was dizzying ..

My heart is strong

Even though it doesn’t know that

I crave to feel connected in every way

Tasting a hint of that made me giddy and delusional

A painful murmur in you said: You are not deserving you are not good you are not moral you cannot be a part of me.

To be unseen to this extent - mistaken for a monster

Is something I don’t know how to hold

Maybe that’s something for me to be with.

Is there a part of me that thinks I am

not

It’s over but I’m still

Riding the constant ups and downs of my emotionality

Is this just my aliveness

Stability would be

Flatlining ?

Fears but no danger

It doesn’t fit the facts

Congratulations megi

now u can work on urself n keep goin on ur path without tests papers or homework

and the wave is me

I am self sabotaging sometimes

and I am also in this

all the way, head is under

Do I do it for the reaction

to see if I’ll get on your nerves

is my nervous system not used

to the stability of

I love you more every day

but now I’d rather just

admire it from afar

just get a glimpse of the glitter

a galaxy away

because what if I’m

wrong again and the glass breaks?

will spare myself the dazzling

“it’s different this time”

because all I know

is that I don’t know anything ever

But I do know you.

a moonbeam I wanna wrap myself in completely

crawl into my soul let’s dream together

for you,

It’s funny how the people that will undoubtedly find you so insignificant             in the long run are the ones you’ll never forget.

The truth is I lost respect for you the moment I realized what you were capable of

And that, my dear, Is listening to the little guy on ur shoulder that tells you it’s okay to do something, for no other reason than to hurt someone else

Turns out I didn’t know you at all

I told you not to get too close to me That it was never going to end well That whatever picture you had in your head was lunacy

But now I’m far far away And I’ve turned you into poetry So this is the end of that now And even though I should be happy about it It’s still my left eye that’s tearing

You were wrong about me But trying to prove that to you is pointless

Maybe you’ll listen when it matters more When you find someone who matters more

I really hope you do

Breathing

Sometimes i feel my eyelids stuttering 

and the right side of my head might be growing inside my scalp 

and my mind goes blank but somehow I’ve convinced myself that I just think too much, 

rather than not at all, 

because that’s definitely better than the other option 

Sleep feels two small footsteps away but I just cant get to it because the fear is getting in my way 

and then I feel guilty for having the nerve to be terrified over such trivial things like 5 overdue assignments when there are children starving and people dying and you’re not doing shit to help them, 

the least you can do is help yourself 

and you dont even do that 

I get scared that all of this is for nothing 

That the money spent on this so called “higher education” won’t get me anywhere 

That im just too far gone 

And maybe at some point I could have changed that 

but now it’s too late and im stuck like this 

That people who are suffering dont have anyone to listen to their stories 

That people dont try to get help because they feel they aren’t worthy of it 

That fighting for it might be a waste 

It’s a strange feeling to be ready to die 

but be certain of the fact that you have not lived. 

I constantly remind myself to breathe 

but I have yet to find out 

There’s silly string on the walls

And I have three months to live

The doctor won’t call back

But I have so much left to give

I fit in seamlessly with a pack

But I’ve felt alone since I got here

I don’t like being alone

But being alone with you scares me

I see you peering into my soul and my bubble grows thicker

I tell you to get away from me because I’m claustrophobic and you take up too much of my air

And what I mean by that is I want you in such close proximity to me

that we could fit in the bottom right corner of a lunchbox together

You told me once

You’d always carry a piece of me with you

In your back pocket

The thing is though,

They’re all sewn shut nowadays

What did that even mean in the first place

Were you collecting my baby teeth over the years?

Take my kidney instead

When you’re allergic to the cutest creature, you gotta blame your suffering on your own lack of self control. I keep petting him, and now the Beagle hairs are everywhere. Through my coughing and sneezing and scratching at my eyeballs furiously, I am thinking about psychopaths and Sydney and the relevance of sororities and how much of fiction is really fiction when shit like that actually happens in the world. We keep silent in our bubbles and it saddens me. 

People write about love … and loss.   What if I want to write, but I haven’t really experienced either one? At least not in the way I probably should have by the ripe age of almost twenty-fun. 

I’ve lost friends. I’ve lost … hope. But nothing excruciating or soul wrenching or even slightly out of the ordinary.

And love? Well, I don’t know if I believe in it. Like really believe in that magical, all consuming, “till death do us part” kind of love. 

Or maybe I just don’t believe it can happen for me. 

It’s not about hating myself, or thinking I’m worthless, or not seeing the positive qualities I have, it’s just such a foreign concept to me for some reason. 

I read about it, I see it depicted in movies, I can recite all of the lyrics to the cheesiest love songs in my sleep, and yet I have no idea what it feels like.  

Disappointing, right? 

Maybe one day I’ll feel my heart in my stomach and my toes in my throat, or whatever the hell they say love is. 

And maybe I won’t. 

For now I’m processing … still processing. Processing what and why and when, and wondering if there’s actually a point to any of it. 

People write about love. And loss.

When I was eight years old I wanted to be an astronaut. I wasn’t sure exactly what that entailed, but since I knew I had already been to Mars, going to other planets shouldn’t have been all that different. I would live off freeze dried food and never have to worry about dressing fashionably. Just one fluffy white bodysuit with a fishbowl over my head. Alone with my thoughts in space where I couldn’t fuck up - because yes, I thought being an astronaut just meant bouncing from planet to planet, with occasional pit stops on the moon.  

When I was twelve, I decided I would be a fashion designer. I went to fashion camp for two weeks where I sketched clothes on barbie doll-like mannequins I drew myself, because that’s exactly what people look like, and created a skirt, a shirt, and a bag with lots of fabric and a sewing machine. They told me if you were skilled on a sewing machine, you’d pick up driving in a minute. Boy were they wrong, my mother still says she’s too young to die when she gets in the car with me.  

When I turned fifteen, I realized there was nothing special about the botched clothing I made at camp, and I preferred wearing t-shirts from Marshalls to designer items I could save up birthday money for to wear exactly one time before it immigrated to my mother’s closet. And so I thought about what I was good at, and it hit me. Talking. I overthink everything, all the time, so I guess I often have a lot to say about nothing. I would be a writer. It was a done deal.

They instruct you to open your eyes.

Resistance is futile.

But seeing is beautiful, they say.

I think not.

It’s like realizing there are nice people in the world,

you just can’t make them stick to you.

I’ve never been afraid of death

But leaving this world without even a fingerprint 

just might be the scariest thing for me.

Well, almost.

People always tell you to see the good in things.

But I never liked playing dress up.

I don’t know what I hope for.

I’m not sure if I ever did

hope.

Some people say I need Jesus.

Others say I need meds.

But all I really need is answers.

If this thing we call life is just one picture -

One version of reality that only exists here in my mind,

Then why can’t I make it a little more shiny.

Why would I dream such awful things into existence 

if everything is up to me.

Bullshit is what this is.

Nothing is up to me.

I have absolutely no say in any of it.

And yet I have all the say in the world.

Just no will to get through it.

I close my own door at night 

then wonder why I am what I am.

I wonder.