For Christmas this year
I’d like a jar of sunshine
I’d like a big bag of happiness
I’d like a pillow I can sleep on
I’d like a better outlook
Or maybe just better eyes
I’d like a lot of things
That I don’t think would fit in your bag
So dear Santa
Would you take me to the doctor instead
Or maybe in my stocking
Slip a prescription pad?
I am an earthquake
Cataclysmic in my origin
I leave towns bare.
I am nothing if not my flaws
the nights I look to the door
The handle not a foot away
but the idea of reaching out and grasping it
Seems as idiotically impossible
as traversing a mountain range
without a single tank of oxygen.
It’s silly you know
a hyperbole you’d say
but the more I think on it the thinner the air becomes
a frost is setting in
and cool air is billowing through the cracks around the door
I can’t even think of reaching the summit
when the first step
is too hard to take.
That slow seep of life
as the cold winds claim you
Rip away any warmth you held.
Isn’t natural then?
for me to run and hide?
to fall to the floor and curl to a ball
hoping the fetal position will save me?
To hope that maybe these blankets, these shudders, these locks on the door
To hope that they are enough?
ra-mb-le-on asked: Your pain killer poem was seriously one of the most beautiful things I d ever read.
Thank you so much, it means more than I can say to receive feedback like this :]
I used to be anorexic but I’ve since lost the will power.
I spend each day chasing cheap thrills
In the first bite of a peach
or the way sunlight plays on a white wall
Each small experience in itself meaningless
But I string them together to form that coat I named happiness
I spend so much time wondering if I’m alive that it’s killing me
and that hollow need to make some cohesive narrative of the random occurrences that plague our consciousness
and the days it’s easier to just go back to sleep.
You said you stopped for me.
But if I was enough to save you then why can’t you be enough to save me?
String me up and beat me with conviction
and when the dust settles and my insides lay spilt across the floor
maybe then the sun will reach the parts of me you could not.
I lay awake at night listening to the glacier in my chest
splinter my ribs and quell my heart
so slowly I could mistake it for an embrace.
And you the court jester, I the queen’s ghost
the fool that always disappears mid play.
Perhaps you knew more than I
or perhaps you were lying
but each time I say I love you
a small voice inside me whispers
"but it isn’t enough"
How's everyone feeling?
So…depression. It’s a word that gets thrown around a lot now. And social anxiety too. There isn’t much meaning left to them. Though to be honest they never had much meaning to start with. It’s not “social anxiety” that goes through your head, it’s more like “oh god if I get out from under this blanket and open that door someone will look at me and they’ll know how pathetic I am and they never say it but they think it I just know I can’t let anyone see me”. And it’s not really depression you’re going to reply with when your friends made a list of your favorite things to go and do, and you’re just struggling on how to articulate to them you’d rather just stare blankly at this wall.