you’ll understand when you’re older.

mommy, what does happy feel like?

“it’s like when you smile and everything is nice.”

mommy, what does sad feel like?

“it’s like when your grandma died. it makes you frown, and sometimes you cry.”

mommy, what does being mad feel like?

“it’s like when you want to hit something really hard to stop the fire in your middle.”

mommy, what is being scared like?

“it’s when you don’t want something to happen, but instead of fire in your middle everything is ice.”

mommy, what does hope feel like?

“it’s when you really want something to happen, and you’re almost scared about it but you smile instead of frown.”

mommy, what does love feel like?

“you’ll understand when you’re older.”

mommy, what does happy feel like?

[it’s the glow in her eyes but not her face as she looks at you oddly, tired – bent but not broken but even her smile is strained now]

mommy, what does sad feel like?

[it’s the way she sobs when she doesn’t think you’re near enough to hear with no abandon, unlike the everything that abandoned her, and it’s the gaunt look to her face, the haunted eyes that seem never to escape the mysterious burdens they drag with them]

mommy, what does being mad feel like?

[it’s the screaming at the sky, the blood-chilling sounds wrenched from her, demanding at no one why they would do this to her, why her, anyone but her, and it’s the dented wall no one talks about]

mommy, what is being scared like?

[it’s the ‘i-love-you’s that stick because of the desperation buried beneath the simple words, and it’s the fact that she’s convinced she’ll never be able to convey the entirety of her meaning, but she’ll try her hardest, anyway, because what could invoke more fear than regret?]

mommy, what does hope feel like?

“mommy doesn’t know sweetie, go ask someone else.”

mommy, what does love feel like? (i’m older now, you know)

“shouldn’t you know the answer by now?”

Advertisements

futile.

i just need life to slow down
i’d be okay, even if it doesn’t stop completely
just declare that it will slow down soon 
because it’s panic-inducing, the speed at which time currently flies by
so tell it to slow down, okay?
please?

thanatophobia (sort of)

Shaken up, yeah that’s pretty apt
I’m failing at attempting to adapt
Mindsets are hard, but you know what’s harder?
Having reactions to your death completely mapped
Am I lying, or do you finally see
that my thought processes will be the death of me?
please believe me, I don’t mean to be a pessimist
but isn’t preparation the whole key to the this?
This is me trying feebly to be prepared
To be the one unhurt, not the one who cared
Instinct is always hard to fight
But I can’t allow myself to be the one who dared
To love, to live
To only ever give
To expose myself wholeheartedly
To vulnerability
To ever ever be the one
Who left no good deed undone
Because I am so incredibly afraid
of being the one who waited
instead of giving their all.

Shaken up? Yeah, that’s pretty spot on,
but isn’t it better than mourning the long-gone?

who taught us to love?

no one ever taught us to care. it’s instinct, right? carved into intangible humanity, sitting like rain water in a barrel; leaking through even against our all-important wishes.
we care so much that our so-called hearts bleed until they wither into dust. we care until veins burst but arteries clench closed; till we spit venom and cures at random, with no care for the path we subconsciously tread. peripheral vision – that’s all we retain, staring anywhere but right in front of us, eyes boring holes into everything but the truth. the truth: we care until paradoxes overwhelm our lives, throwing us back into reality with nothing but a vague notion of recent events.
hazy, disjointed life. automatic, uncontrollable life. that’s all we retain.
we care, but we don’t focus on it; that would hurt too much.
we care, not because we would die of agony if we fully felt the effects–
but because we would live in perpetual fear of the what-ifs.
we care without a care in the world, simply because it’s instinct.

the meaning of this is blank

and as much as my aching fingertips
itch to bleed thoughts into my lips
the urgency to slit them
to be able to say that I lit them
on /fire/ to find feeling–
the urgency is too much to bear.

i feel too much but there are no words
to express what i need heard
and the accusatory weeping
this water sliding down my face
in place of words translated to page
this water is too much to bear.

bile piles high in my throat
oh wait, no, that’s my attempt to emote
it’snotworkingnotworkingnotworking
what do i even do anymore
if time was an emotion, it’s not something
that i would ever comprehend
this time i’m not strong enough
and you can find proof in everything.

my head’s always clearer when i’m at home
no fog exists inside this dome
i emote so easily because it’s all a show
slowly becoming reality.

(of course my house is not my home.
whatever gave you that notion?)

bleak

have you ever gone through an hour, or maybe a day, or a week, where it felt like you were living out a video? everything is a hollow allegory for something held dear. time is fluid, you are fluid. you survive, but you do not live.
echoes of ‘real’ life? well, this is real life. this is the reality you face every day. it’s like you’re living in a dream except that you can read the license plate of the car in front of you as you drive to work, or school, or just back home. you feel each meaningless breath rack your body, but you don’t breathe. ‘going through the motions’ is a way of life now. ‘fine’ is a perpetual state of being.
and what’s better, this, or emotion that sucks away the things you see but don’t focus on, the things you hear but don’t register? always ringing in your ears, or maybe a buzzing – it distracts you, until you’re not paying attention and someone else pays the cost.

have you ever experienced this?
i ask, because i can no longer breathe.

Nine Lives

nine
nothing
not black, not white, whatever those are
nothing is seen and everything is felt

eight
they tell me i see in black, white and grey
i tell me that i know nothing else, anyway

seven
so these are the shades to the names
they are nothing like i thought
but they’re so much deeper

six
thought i lived then
even have a job now

five
there is a boy

four
i know what color his eyes are

three
his lips in front of that crowd
and cake smeared on them afterward
a beautiful sight
a beautiful, many-hued sight

two
faded blue eyes crinkled at the corners
fading
fading

one
i cannot see

i can still remember, though.