I Want To Know What You Hold Close When Your Feeling Empty

Always stuck somewhere between too much work and not enough

I can't start until I'm desperate

I can't stop until I'm burnt out

She tastes like the metallic burn of blood.

She smells like the pop of wood as the fire consumes it.

She feels like the static that clings to your clothes.

She looks like lightning as it cracks the sky.

And he fancies himself Zeus.

He held my heart in his hands and asked me why it broke

I rub the blanket across my cheek, trying to ground myself.

I feel your skin instead burning and intrusive. Grating on me.

I feel like I'm floating. I'm off in a dream.

Experiencing horrors I've already seen.

My breathing is heavy. I try not to scream.

I scrub at my skin. It never gets clean.

New witching hour

10 o'clock is the new witching hour. When you've run out of tv and fanfics to distract you from all the free time your wasting every day. When anything productive you could be doing with your time, anything that would mean something to your life, Writing, playing, traveling, trying to get published, Anything that you want to do for yourself is going to take too long and cut into the mandatory time you have to devote to outer society. Be it work or school we have to pay a time fee, an emotional fee, a physical fee, just to exist here.

10 o'clock when all the long hours of your short days are used up and out of reach. When it's responsible to go to sleep. To get those 8 hours so you aren't quite as dead to the world tomorrow as you could be. When the doubts and insecurities come creeping in between the hours of sleep and distraction. You dig for another show, video, book, fic, song, anything to keep you going until you feel like your eyelids are just heavy to fall before your thoughts get the better of you.

When the emotional vulnerability makes you fragile and everything from your voice to your reflection or hell one stray mannerism makes your self-esteem take a dive. Back in the good old days, all we had to worry about sneaking through the shadows in our rooms were monsters. Demons come to take your soul. What do you do when you are the demon. When the shadows are under your eyes. When all the ambition in the world has been pumped into since your ears opened to this world but as soon as you focus enough to see it. All you see is how it's wrong.

We're still kids. Whether your 17 or 30 your still just a kid. Because the definition of adult is emotionally stable. 3 kids, 2 cars, 1 husband and more zeros than you can count. Being an adult means maturity and when they've spent your entire life feeding you pretty lies about your future, how are you not supposed to feel inadequate?

Name me not Cassandra

Name me not Cassandra for my voice it must be heard.

Even if you bind my mouth with fabric and brush away my word.

I claim not a higher wisdom for vanity or spite.

Only a point of view from far below your height.

I am cursed with the experience of an unwelcome hand.

And through this lens I now see my sister who too have been touched by man.

You may turn and shield your ears from me, laugh away my proof

But my mouth, it will not waver in telling you the truth.

Name me not Cassandra for your Helen is on her way.

She brings chaos and together we as women will make you pay.

I want to learn to love like you

I can only scream my feelings through the open window of a moving car

When the wind steals the words from my lips and smothers them before they can be heard

Long ago I accepted that my mind would always outrun my body. It would be an exhausting existence but one I could ultimately cope with. I spent all of my youth studying for it, how to live with my own mind. How to make room for it in my life. I looked it in its wild eyes as it promised it would never be tamed. And that was fine. I swallowed my dread determined to live anyways. To perservere.

I was unprepared for my body to start lagging further behind. I should still be young. Barely an adult. But my body is degrading around me nonetheless My joints creak and ache, my muscles fall slack and weak. I can't carry the weight I could before. I cannot hold a knife correctly to cut my vegetables, I can't even muser up enough strength to stand throughout the day. Always having to stop and catch my breath.

My mind is only getting faster and more unruly as it grows but my body is quickly becoming infirm. I worry the two halves of my existence will pull me apart refusing to live together.

What will become of me when I am abandoned by both?

Greedy are the trees

"Haven't you ever seen it?" She asked me.

"Gnarled roots pale as bone crawling their way through the underbrush. Pushing aside new green ferns and beds of decaying leaves. Each root peaking for long lengths from the damp dirt. Anchored maybe by the earth or maybe by thorny vines, sharp and thick with red-tipped spines. This is the work of the trees." She whispers this all to me in a conspiring way.

"You'll see them reaching with knothole fists towards the waters edge. Thirsty for what the spring has to offer; as if the ground isn't soft with it already." She pauses smile turned sharp and condescending in the way a mother's does when sharing stories of her child's mischief.

"Greedy things"