January 29th, 2019

I’ve found peace in the way I can rely on a single screen

with a keyboard at my fingertips,

to relieve so much tension from my chest.

It’s so easy to speak to a blank slate,

a empty black screen

rather than a face.

The fragments of my head coming together

a single swift movement at a time. 

How watching letters 

forming words, 

somehow makes these emotions make sense.

God damn, I hope you can find it though-

amidst all the nonsense I call sanity

and stability. 

I hope you see the beauty in all of it. 

Deep down past all the gloom.

Deep down under the destruction

of my being.

I hope you feel it. 

Please.

Don’t like my posts, consume them. 

Embrace them.

Find a piece of them that makes you feel.

It is so much more to me than a number-

a status.

It’s about creating a feeling.

Tell me, what makes you feel?

Tell me- 

What sets you off?

What pulls you out of bed in the morning?

What keeps you on your feet

when all you want to do is fall to your knees?

I want to get in your head but,

I also want you in mine. 

Take me in and spit me back out.

Feel something.  

Break shit.

Break down.

Do something, but don’t like my fucking post. 

Welcome Back to My Headspace

I want...

to be loved. 

Not a single piece at a time but all at once. 

From the tips of my toes as I dig them into the bathroom rug-

unable to catch my breath, 

to the top of my head, 

tangled in a mess 

because I couldn’t bring myself to run a comb through the threads of the mane 

that I call hair.

...to feel warm.

To feel fulfilled;

at every moment of my life,

every second of existence.

But...fuck,

that’s so much to ask for!

When suddenly you’re asking another being,

another soul-

To be that warmth,

to be that fulfillment,

that we call love.

Show Me The World

Put me up on a pedestal. Set me up high above the clouds so I can see. Show me the tips of the pine trees stretching to the skies. Wrap me up in a warm breeze and bring me down gently to show me the grass as it tangles itself in between my toes. Pull me into the core of the world and lead me through the roots of the flowers that paint the Van Gogh that we call Mother Earth. Then, bring me back, breaking though the dirt and gasping for the crisp morning air, to rest my head against a pillow of lavender, sunflowers, and daisies. Let my hands wander through them, collecting their virgin dust. Watching, as the little sunrises blossom on the tips of my fingers.