a four wall reflection

My room is filled with blank checks, empty birth control packs, a compact mirror, cropped tops. A chaotic sea of adolescent belongings. Novels and handbags scattered among a half unpacked suitcase, open supplement bottles and empty cups, plastic bottles. A hair diffuser, needle and thread. Enough nail polish to paint the town red. A pink and white journal from years passed sits collecting dust under my desk. My dog licks her leg on my plush white bed and the naked overhead light is glaring and unflattering -- casts this room in a more harsh and unforgiving light. There are socks, vomit-soaked gowns yet to be dry cleaned and my cracked, unnourished lips. There are prescription pill bottles, some empty, some half-filled with substances that are supposed to fix this cursed condition. This chemical imbalance that makes my esophagus red with anger and my brain riddled with fears. A chipped, unglazed ceramic cup I made at age four sits with three mint leaves and ample water. It gives off no smell. Hand cream, face cream, copious amounts of chap stick containers, lip balms, carmex, Blistex. A book shelf filled with stark and depressing titles, how people rarely stop to acknowledge how bleak the names are, Being and Nothingness, Paradise Lost, The Waves, In Cold Blood. The case filled with the truth of human existence, Crime and Punishment, The Razor’s Edge, One Hundred Years of Solitude. How these men and women knew how dreary this life really is. In a mess of noise-cancelling headphones and magazines adorned with Chanel poster adds. Some attempt to achieve beauty. Leather and faux-leather purses. A dog breathes heavily in the night and I love her. More than I love the coat hanger siting on my desk chair and more than I love, in many ways myself. More pills, receipts, empty shopping bags and earrings. For freshly pierced skin. New breakthroughs, needles dug deep. An open drawer of unmatched socks. Nude mesh leotards and rabbit ears. Dress up. How I do not know how to move on from here. How I do not know where I want to go. My left gland is swollen and my lungs are bruised, damaged from too much smoke. Drawers filled to the brim with crushed empty cigarette packs, Marlborough Lights, American Spirit Blues, Parliments. I am never quite ready to go to sleep. Sitting half up half awake not ready to face the night. The pre-dawn surrender to daily darkness, collective lack of light. My toe throbs and pulses through infected skin. A damp towel rests on the edge of my bed and I doubt I will move it. Doubt I will hang it up to dry where it belongs. Im seeking joy in vindication, disorganization and appreciation of this chaotic summer. Im seeking joy in the potential relief from my undeniable self loathing. How everything begins to feel like a rejection, when anyone says my name. how its so strange to hear the syllables spoken outloud, recogniton that I do indeed exist, in this unspeakably unfathomable life. How no words could ever come close to describing the hourly struggle I face of attempting to confront my doom. The foreverness of death. The lightness and sand like quality the ones we love have of slipping through our fingers, out of our grip. And seep out like fireflies into the night sky, away from us. Too far to touch. But how I hope we all light up the sky, in a thousand little pieces, radiant speckles of neurons, brain cells, flesh, skin flakes and neon veins. How I hope to light up the sky.

sorrow found me when i was young

sorrow waited and sorrow won

sitting in a strangers room in portland, oregon listening to the national. his caramel voice washing over my body like tapioca, like some kind of taffy. too many metaphors. no way to pin point anything i am ever describing. my body aches for something more rewarding, for fulfillment. a constant state of either dissatisfaction or depressive apathy. released from your chains. the high hoped let down and not-good-enough. whether that label belongs to you or i - i am still unsure. my eyes itch from new-state allergy. finally got on the plane. finally broke my biggest physical fear. so what is the residual anxiety? the leaky washed up faded heart attack. half-forced.

no words left on my chest. everything held inside of me taken out. i am a walking zombie. life force taken away. no desire. no trust in the future. bleak. the scalp-itched discomfort of physical new place. without you. without the desire of you. without the crutch of the possiblity to shrivel and croutch next to.

what a lonesome feeling to be waiting around

like some washed up actress in a tinseltown

we are all underdeveloped. crutched. unable to stand by ourselves. on two solid feet and nothing to rest on. the task is impossible, that we've been given. to be an individual entity. to not be attached at the hip with another. yet i cannot wish to be tied down. i wish to be tied, strung delicately and seamlessly at the side of a lover. but not cut deep with the needle that threaded us together. not tied so tightly that i am responsible, for you, and your inadequacy. all of your inadequacy. the collective not good enough. i'm tired of dumbing myself down, the perpetual degradation of trying to make yourself fit into a puzzle piece that isn't quite your size. trying to mend together the bits of a torn photograph that doesn't belong any longer. the forceful act of trying to fall in love. i guess the reality is it is something that cannot be controlled. it's a shame though. that we can't chose. that something else is at work. that we can't get over our reservations and make this life long struggle for completion and satisfaction easier. that there is so much trial and error.

so i yawn. in the late afternoon light that i am blessed to wake up to. gone is the delusion of morning and late late evening and present is the reality of the decisions we make to make ourselves feel better. or at least try to. the adventure of every experience. but i feel distant. removed. impartial to every situation. like all of this feigned emotion has actually just made me numb. and here i sit unable to feel anything but slight discomfort. loneliness. shallow rejection but more consistent awareness of my own faults. my own mistakes in this creation we are trying to make. so i try to let out a little blood. stab the skin gently so the heat is released and my skin is flushed. but it is never worth it. perhaps none of it is worth it. to try so hard. to try so hard to be sewn together when really all that happens is you get torn apart. by the winds of change and the waves of sex. and then you return, isolated, under sheets of desolation and sorrow. of realizing you are not good enough. or more dissapointingly, that they aren't. that that which you idealized isn't in flesh what you thought it would be. and the dream is better than the reality. and the reality just wades on, effortlessly and always, until maybe you accept it. that you are better off alone.

spring it did come slowly

i guess it did it's part
my heart has thawed and continues to beat

the rhythm of a song i used to love plays through me and i am urged to write. to explain that i do not adore days this warm. the heat overwhelms me and slows down my pulse. lethargic. each step hard to take. and each dream is a fever, where i am not sure i will ever wake up. bizarre images flash before me posing as reality, and i believe it, in the moment, in the moment nothing feels as real.

and there is hope. in every baby born and every decision made. that maybe i will be better for it. that maybe all of this circular wandering will lead me to some solid ground. the breath of summer dances around me in a coreographed tease. it is not here yet. relief from the monotony of the school year. the alarm clock haze that i refuse to wake up to. that i roll over facing the blood red wall of this strange and suffocating room and refuse to face the day. five more minutes under this comforter. do not make me participate. i am too tired.

and i feel strangely adult. synical and jaded. corrupted. my skin no longer resiliant and my lungs heavy with smoke exhaled weeks ago. out of breath. out of shape. walking up a staircase unable to lift my legs to the next level. the level i need to get to.

and i am still on this strangely crafted search for perfection. for satisfaction. for cleaner lines and aesthetic wonder. that i know i can attain. the question is when. when will i realize that this ultimate search for exterior cleanliness will not be achieved until my insides match. until the discord within me begins to settle. the brain waves even out. the soul recovers.

my future exists without me and carries itself out. it is braver than i. it is the dream i have yet to discover. where i swallow my anxiety and walk onto the jet plane. up the isle and into my seat and confidently know that the only thing crashing is the trapped feeling i have had for four years now. that the only thing that will ram into the ground is my own inability to let go of the darkness in my self. that at that breathtakingly uncomfortable angle of take off position i will find the thing that truly bothers me. the demon beyond all mental comprehension. that will only be felt and released once i am suspended in the air. 30,000 feet above sea level and above my constrictions. i will be free.

i had shoes to fill

walking barefoot now
can't tell north from south
but no split hair's gonna get me down

i can't really explain the state i'm in. how it is i'm feeling. my throat clouded with residual phlegm, unwanted from all too easy to catch illnesses. my persistent lack of an immune system. my head is clouded with song lyrics and images of clean homes, fresh interiors that i want to surround myself in. i know i'm experiencing something like a fresh start, the feeling of a clean notebook. the school year nearing an end, closure, i need the smell of summer need its noises in my ear. still amazed with how far the push of a year can lead you. how one launch can take you such a grand distance. so far away.

besides my ever lasting struggle to stay concentrated, i think i might be happy in this position. not leaned back, i'm fairly upright. but tired. so tired. the impossibility of getting out of bed. the ultimate challenge of knowing what it is i want. the struggle to make every page not look the same. to make every day a different color so when i look back on this shinning life it isn't dull, but a radiant scheme of these myriad emotions that seem to follow me everywhere i go. the intensity that murks up yet clears the waters of my daily triumphs and victories. it is the little ones that matter.

the blatant rejection i feel just waking up every day. the murder. the fear of being terminated by larger, unforgiving forces. the constant nicotene and poison that surrounds the air i breathe. the temptation. how much danger is too dangerous. how do i know if its good for my health to take this risk or if it is the next step i take that will lead me spiralling downwards. into the dark pit of the sweat dreams i wake up in the middle of. the pistol painted on my forehead of a strange danger i was previously unaware of. the consuming darkness around the corner waiting for me. that i must be omniscient to predict. the consequential failure that could happen so quickly i had better keep my eyes wide open, sleep on my back so i can wake up easily to find the culprit, the seed of truth that will linger to find the criminal. well aware the criminal lies within me. in constant fear of broken plans and failed attempts to fly. failed attempts even to try.

my throat is dry weeks later. living in a tension dream filled with nonconsecutive images. not continuous. and im in the middle of radical self discovery. in toning arms and doing what i am supposed to. what is good for me. maybe i will one day get a surge of energy. and i will wake up free of the pain i seem to have been born in. the ache i seem to be attached to, at the hip, permanently. so i seek relief, in things non-toxic and beliefs self-perpetuated. that somewhere in the spiral of my subconcious could exist the key i am missing to understand my eclipsed view of this universe. this little slate of being.

the people i loved, the people i almost loved

day breaking

river rolling

i wish i was a morning person. i wish the alarm went off and i arose with ease. one dramatic stretch of the arms is all it would take to wake me. i love the way morning feels. the dew still remaining in the air from the mystery of night and its moist. its fresh. its something i normally sleep through.

i've been sick for a week. making me feel even more vulnerable and worn down than i do usually. i feel triple my age. the aching body of a 54 year old woman. as if i have experienced so much that every turn of the head hits my neck in the same place, as if i'm that old. where is the youth, i've felt this ache since i was 13. i never had a young feeling body. i've felt rickety for as long as i can remember.

i feel like im sitting in an empty bathtub and the water is filling up extremely slowly, one thin layer at a time and i'm cold and naked and the water is barely covering my ankles. and i have no idea why its filling so slowly and why i'm not warm. why the water won't just fill the basin and allow me to bathe. or vice versa, like im relaxing in a full perfect tub that suddenly begins to drain, slowly, and i can't stop the water from gradually seeping out, my energy, life force, the water, god only knows what it represents.

and i'm scattered, unsure of what i'm saying, unsure of what it is i want. depressed. monotonous. how every day manages to feel the same. sunrise. sunset. not quite sure what i'm searching for. what will fill this void. what is the void. i know i'm not going to find answers until i do some real looking. until i take few belongings on some kind of wild, self discovery journey. cliche. but i do need some time to know how i feel, my own personal answers to life un-answerable questions.

ah, i just wish i had faith in myself. isn't that where it always boils down to? that i will make it. that your promise will keep. that i will be taken care of. cradled from within. nursed back to childhood where my limbs feel connected effortlessly and the aching between my shoulder blades softens, my jawline, hard as a rock, returns to a relaxed, comfortable position. and i find you/it/the thing i need to not be such a wandering, loud, maniac. my own insanity. my own need for perfection. i'm turning into a swan. ok. maybe i'm not turning into a swan.

maybe it is all about human connection. a smile shared with a stranger. or strangers. i wonder why we can't have a story with everyone. there is no "one" for you. its the one you make right. the one out of thousands. i am all about second chances. trial and error. i will keep trying until i get this right. but why limit the possibilities. every match of the cosmos spectrum is a different make-up. every single possible human connection will spark a different outcome, one that i am entitled to experience. every individual can change my experience. i value each story. each name, each number. each sliver in my history of becoming who i am today, sitting here writing this for some level of self relief. extraction. hopefully it does something constructive. hopefully bodies entwined releases some real level of personal toxicity, so i can be less bitter, so i can be one with another and not this hard brick of an existing entity, not alone.

language just happened it was never planned

and its inadequate to describe where i am

with what emotion do i start the words on this page. imaginary. like the acid floating from with in me, must keep it in, keep it down. hold me down. i've been reading every vowel of fiction i can swallow, a quest for knowledge, a story to keep my attention, to let this dream go by faster. but slow it down now, must build myself to last, set up for success not failure, to live this life fully, still no idea what that means.

and its these late night ramblings that have me wound up and bent over, kneeling towards morning, seeing the sun come up, the first instinct of dawn come through these inadequate, insufficient, incapable window panes and i am awake with the sun, not ready for the day. the only gift i get. the best gift any of us can get.

my shoulders are achy and my tongue is burnt and sore, lips chapped past shot of redemption, parched and unable to sleep. always unable to sleep. the late night mind wanders past confines i can control. to what i will name you, nameless, now shapeless infinite little infant will rest in my arms and i will weep now, for the loss, the separation, of all of us, how i pray in the end we aren't really alone. an immaculate image projected from the blueprint, the divine reel that keeps spooling, keeps playing until the contrast is too small, until the known and unknown blend to the parched white page i started with, the beginning and end of it all. i admit i know nothing. i know nothing at all.

and i yearn, still, for something to bite down on. back molars positioned steadily on forearm flesh until i can pour out all of my anger for things listed above. head too heavy for neck. breath too heavy for throat to carry out properly, smoothly, a smoke exhale that i wont let myself inhale, too toxic.

why can't i sleep. i truly don't understand why i lie awake throwing myself around, never quite comfortable. never quite surrendered to the problems that take up my mind. problems i can't solve. that are un-solvable.

i don't know what i love. i don't even know that much anymore. i cut my cuticles until blood pours, accidentally. another accidental self-injury. i know i can recover. how am i still recovering. how long it takes for a wound to properly heal, seal over, until no bacteria can enter anymore. until we are safe from ourselves.

perhaps it is all too dramatic. we should handle this more like men. cowardly. i face it forward, honestly, as honest as i can. and maybe my words are hyperbole, but i know what helps me. i know what is a proper assist in making it through the walls in my brain, the membrane preventing me from sleep, my own fear of not having enough time to make it where i know i'm going, where i position my finger tips firmly into belief that i can arrive in one piece at my final destination knowing i did every last thing i could do to better this life, to better myself, to awakened and wake up at a proper hour feeling well, ready for this world, this weird world in front of me. in front of us.