Ink Stained Fingertips

At your touch

But you did

Continue down.

How do you go on

I feel dry

The bursting of a bubble Safety was a fallacy Inside your little mind The sinking realization That there's no one to rely on That responsibility rests squarely on your own shoulders The people who should lift you Turn out to be your own sandbags Each one you reach for Just makes the others heavier You stop spinning to see There's no one there That you are only weight to others too Lonely islands Lighthouses trying to communicate With no hope of ever meeting each other

Let's write some bullshit Some feel good nonsense So that basic bitches Will use it in their Instagram descriptions Because they have nothing original to say Let's write something existential Of the universe beyond understanding To open the minds Of those who never think beyond the menial Incapable of thinking on their own Let's write something pretentious So lofty and judgmental So we feel superior Even though we are just as guilty Of being human like everyone else

Strangers encircle me, oblivious. They don't even look at me. Preoccupied, trying to garner some feeling into their own lives. Well I have enough feelings for all of them, it seems. I feel like a thousand colors could come bursting out of me at any moment. Colors that hurt and heal, that create and destroy. Retreating inside myself, I see them from afar. But I know. They are all searching. Filled with want. Desire. Filling their mind with images, barely understanding, yet glimpsing who they want to be. If only they knew. If only I could tell them. If only I could speak up and have all the answers. Instead I'm sitting, emotions folding into one another in an endless cataclysm that I can't seem to control. I find solace in that. I relish in the unending turmoil of my spirit, for I spent so long without one. I feel full. I feel time passing and I'm here. Present. Self indulgent in my emotions, like eating desert on an empty stomach. Delicious, yet detrimental if repeated too often.

2016 was a disaster on so many levels. It was also the year that I decided to focus on bettering myself and being happy with myself. As you can guess, that got harder and harder as the year wore on. I bought so many self help books and poured over them, delving into every detail and relentlessly mulling everything over in my mind day in and day out. I will say, it did help me learn to be happy in the moment and to appreciate my life for where I was at the time, focusing on what I did have versus what I didn't, and the like. Practicing meditation is something I will continue to do as much as I can because it has changed the way I do think about things. One thing that I've realized is that self help books are(obviously) flawed in many ways. The more I read, the more I began to see how all they were feeding me was the ILLUSION of control over my own existence. Even in the "letting go" processes they preached, it was all working towards manipulating what we can never control to try to make things what we want them to be. Again, all an illusion. Hokey, self indulgent, and highly privileged, I felt all I was learning was the equivalent of emotional masturbation. I'm glad I gleaned some helpfulness where I could, but more than that I feel like I learned many more important things about not only myself, but the way many people approach hardships and how they are handled. In the end, I have a better grip on living in every moment, but when it comes to the steps for a better future, I am fully accepting of the fact that I control nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I need to stop trying to find myself and let myself be. It's so dark and lonely inside. So don't go inside.