Flip Phone Huh,,,,

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.

[Jambound] The Wolf & The Lamb

°•○•°

"Lamb, tell me a story.

There was once a pale man with dark hair who was very lonely.[...] He took an axe and split himself in two. Right. Down. The middle.

So he would always have a friend?

So he would always have a friend."

—Kindred, League of Legends

Me telling my friends not to tell him it was me. Not because I think he'd be weirded out. I don't care about what he thinks about me. But because, for once in a very long time, he seems happy. Happy that someone cares. Happy that he received something so miniscule, but he needed it. I don't know if he knows that it's me but, I like it when he's happy. His joy is infectious and I can still feel my heart swell when he's like that. It's no secret that I've always admired him. I would do anything in my power to ensure his happiness. Maybe it's fake, maybe it's real. But it's infectious regardless. I don't care about anything else. I just want him happy.

Mom

If there was something that annoyed me greatly in my childhood,

It would be all the little boys and girls– That would cry out for their mothers

Their shrieks and wailing. It made my head ache

No, I'm nothing like those children

I don't need a mother, I don't need her at all

I've grown stronger, becoming an adult more quickly than others

She looks at me with foggy eyes, they are unable to comfort

I hate her, I can't bear to look into her eyes devoid of love

She doesn't say anything, only sighs, and I immediately know what she means

I pity her, I'm okay with her leaving a child she didn't want.

She holds a knife, slowly cutting into the board

I loathe her, I wish she'd step out of my life– let me breathe

She leaves the room, and it's like she was never there. I'm left with an open wound

I miss her. I yearn for her touch, no matter how forced it felt

“Mom, where did you go?” I ask

“Mom, come back!” I cry out.

“Mom, hold me!” I yell.

“Mom, tell me I'm still your little girl,” I beg.

Mom, you really are a cruel and tragic woman

How dare you give birth to a child and walk away

How dare you leave me all alone in this world

Eats u instead

The Identifying-as-genderfluid to realizing you have DID/OSDD pipeline

A year tomorrow, isnt it? Or was it today? I've lost track, at this point. Im sure it's tomorrow, though. I've done nothing but miss you for an entire year. Isnt that something? How we all yearn for someone? You're not coming back to me. I can't imagine a world where I get to run to you again. All I can do is miss you. Im not too sure why you unblocked me though. You're so odd

I'm 18 and my dad has dementia

I'm 18 and I'm both the youngest and oldest I've ever been

I'm 18 and I want hug from you

I'm 18. Happy birthday to me. What a joyous world.

Great soup even

When two characters are dancing around their very obvious feelings for one another. And it’s the night before the big fight. Either of them could very well die. They both know this. One confesses their feelings, the one who’s usually so quiet, so pent up because this love isn’t something they think they deserve. And the other is overjoyed, ready to catch up on years spent pining hopefully from the sidelines. And then the battle happens. The confessor nearly dies. It comes to light they only confessed because they fully intended to die and didn’t want their lover to not know how they really felt. So now they have to navigate this aftermath. How do you deal with knowing your lover loves you, but not enough to live for you? Good soup….