If We Were In Bed Together You Would Have To Tell Me All Your Thoughts And Fantasies So That I Could

I could easily show you what ive written.. or I could just read it to you as I pet your hair and tell you how proud I am?? Your choice not mine

I don't have hot takes anymore - life is just beautiful and I am lucky

"joke"

This encapsulates everything I've ever felt, in my life. This hits so hard LOL

here is the light and the stool and the waterbottle so you can wring your hands and make a joke about your life like you are tumble-drying. here is the audience of your friends with their faces weirdly pinched just because you admitted that when you were growing up, bad things happened. when other people talk about their past, nobody flinches. when you mention the things you survived, everyone else gets uncomfortable, calls it trauma dumping. meanwhile to you it's just, like, something that happened.

you learn to sidestep it or to disguise it or to wait until it's dark out. you wait and hold the wasps nest and blink into the bright lights and then you make a joke about it. here is the joke: there is a hole in me that stays open no matter what i put into it. i have spent my life trying to make myself full and things just fall out.

and everyone loves a hole joke! how big is the hole? how wide? what does it swallow? once you disassociated with your turn signal on and it made your spiraling thoughts feel staccato, like rainfall. once when you were in the middle of a field you had the sudden thought - lightning could strike and wouldn't that just like, resolve it all?

clap your hands go to school go to work smile about it stuff yourself with this world because everyone says if you peel off the bad bits the new skin starts to show except it's been years and the uphill never stops being a slope. can you just lay down and be healed. you feel embarrassed to mention to your therapist that things are getting bad again, like you're wasting her time. like if you were really trying shouldn't you just be better. obviously you're not taking it seriously. you have to beg her to stay, worried that she will be one of the therapists that says this clearly isn't helping.

open your mouth and deliver a tight five minutes of comedy. make yourself beautiful and pleasing. you want to say im not ready but life doesn't wait for you to put your hands up so live under the boot. so never stick your tongue out hoping for snowflakes - more likely than not, god is gonna piss on you. good luck in the morning, you can't process the car crash because your whole life is an accident. nightmare kid; no matter how fast you run, you're still at the scene of the injury. elastic, you snap back to the broken rib. is this where you left your childhood? buried in somebody else's fingers.

get up on stage and do a little dance for us. get up on stage and try to language the loneliness never stops yawning but don't sound desperate or sad or yearning or wanting. sound brave and inspiring and dishonest about how badly you're hurting. call up foucault and laughingly promise that any time you talk about this you are adding disclaimers that of course peace is possible and you're so much better than you were before and the friction of your soul only sands down the sharp parts and never the tender spots and you're in therapy and you're a success story and you are neither a danger to yourself nor to others. either you are suffering just quietly enough or they lock you up. put your jazz hands up, make a spectacle out of yourself in glitter glue. you are someone's mental health month bulletin board & AI generated recovery chatbot.

you're too gentle to be a problem, but isn't that part of the difficulty. if you could just fucking talk about it. you have seen other people be helped and get what they need and be supported. something about you and the way you are - when you lose control, it's just not allowed, is the thing. it's embarrassing, not concerning. get back up on stage and finish your set. stop making us worry about it. the things that echo in you shouldn't be able to escape the bones in your head.

get back up on stage and perform like you're healthy, goddammit.

Packing the makeup on so they can’t see how dead my face looks.

Man I really hate it when my brown eyes turn black 🥺🥺

HELP THE TIKTOK ABLEISTS ARE SAYING NARCS EYES CAN STRAIGHT UP GO BLACK⁉️⁉️⁉️

bro they think we're mythical fucking demons im done😭😭😭

I was talking with my sister last night and it occurred to me that I write a lot of poetry during liminal and intermundane moments. Late at night before I go to sleep. A moment of mental stress. Immediately after awaking from unconsciousness. Feeling trapped between the past and the future. Longing for the beauty of the unattainable past. Stuck in traffic. Out walking at sunset, almost dying from the freezing cold temperature. Meditation on our childhood in the earth. Outside in a thunder storm. Imagining I was out in the woods. Something eerily like demonic possession. Dancing in the rain. Listening to the night sounds at midnight dejection. Melancholy contemplation in an unlit room. A late night obsession. Out, meditating, on a walk. The shock of a murder. Reading apocalyptic literature.

Humans are intermundane beings; thus it only makes sense that our poetry would be the same.

Kindly Donate to support family in Gaza.

My family is still staying in half of the church that wasn’t affected by the bombing because there is nowhere else to stay other than tents. They are limited to one small meal a day and one shower a week. They are sleeping on the floors, but no one can sleep since there is bombing everywhere around them. Even when there is no bombing, they can still hear the loud buzzing sound of the military planes above them, which would keep anyone who hears it awake. Along with everything, My grandma has diabetes and osteoporosis, so she can’t walk. She has to take her insulin medication along with many others; however, she has run out of many of her medications.” Am on my knees requesting for donation. Target $950

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The way he immediately shies away once a glimpse of his real self is revealed.

The way he literally gets smaller and tries to hide it.

The way it shows how much he is ashamed of his imperfections.

The fact that he doesn’t want Jayce to see it

Heartbreaking.

The fury I felt yesterday was unmatched. As a man, it's my duty to try and protect the women in my life. That's what I've been taught from a young age. So, to have a man who has done nothing but antagonize a girl I barely know- and then lie to everyone about it- is fucking ridiculous. He truly and utterly disgusts me. Scum like him don't deserve to roam the earth. They deserve nothing less of sheer loneliness and pain.