#365pages

words seem a little farther away than the stars were last night, pollution of the mind creeping in from behind unlocked jail cells. my heart keeps saying to write all my confusion away, not a trace of struggle running as a constant remnant of darkness. there's something about the way my letters seem sad, the ringing of each screaming word stares right back at me from the screen, feeling empty and useless. they call this a writer's block, but it feels more like being disconnected from half of yourself, being concealed when all you want to do is run up and never let go. i never bought a one way ticket to poetry, and i miss the feeling of everything somehow clicking side by side perfectly, like the right tune of music. i hear a faint whisper of the girl in me who needs to write badly, an urge to be free again. all i am now is afraid.

300 poems to go

This morning I woke up, turned up the music and cried because I really don’t care anymore. But deep inside, I know I do, and it really matters. there’s always this internal battle and a fusion of swirling feelings of anxiety, sadness, anger, confusion, hatred and guilt. I want to explode, I want to burst into flames and set things on fire. My smile is lava slowly flowing but no one seems to feel the heat. They wait until they get burned before running. I walk so cautiously, I gaze into walls because the simplest things I think are more interesting than anything else. Im afraid, im annoyed, im sad, I want to stop, but I cant.