Ideas I can't shake, but can't turn into anything good

Feeling invincible after our fights
unbreakable

World tried to tear you down
Tried to tear yourself down
Have to believe when life leaves you empty

Shadows of your body
whiff of your scent
whispers of our moans

I never said thank you

Thalassophobia

I am a collector of irrational fears

The most notable being my fear of sea creatures

Which is also the most oxymoronical

because I am a child of the water and it grounds me

I think it stems from my natural connection

to the first memory I have of my step father

when we went to the aquarium in England

I get claustrophobic just thinking about the walls of fish

and I was scared and crying 

The claustrophobia and fear and crying are a repeating theme

in memories of my step-father

In the car crying, hyperventilating, puking

every memory I have is linked to that

There was a casino in Reno, where we lived in the house with the purple walls

An escalator took you past these big seahorse statues

that spouted water and looked so huge and menacing

It was in this weird hallway not around anything else

and I spent every trip down being both fascinated and terrified

Our fights always felt a little bit like drowning

and  he was the monster under my bed

but no worse than the terrors of the sea

Brain dump

In the evening he came to me

opened his arms and held me fervently

Pressed the valleys of his face

into the soft flesh at the curve of my neck

Opened his mouth only large enough

to let his troubles trickle out

Inhaled the scent upon my chest

swayed to the beat of my little rabbit heart

In the evening he came to me

opened up his strong chest

let me put my hands on his soft spots

In the evening he came to me

released his burden a little

let me absorb warm salty tears

In the evening

when he came to me

he let his love pour out

and let me shelter him 

He loves me like

When I say he might need to liquor me up
Because all the other times I was
All he has for me is "No."

When his Grandee says I'm just too pretty to shave my head
And she asks him, doesn't he agree?
All he says is "She is too pretty"

When I lay my red hot cheek on his arm
And he realizes that it's from my blood sugar being low
He pulls me up and pours me a glass of tea

When he grabs the last piece of bread,
He cuts it before he dips in in the oil
And hands half to me

Lists

Scrubbing, pouring, sifting
Looking at art for hours on end
Pen clicking. Hair smoothing.
Total disassociation
Anxious habits

Mathematical equations
Societal norms
Cats. Birds. Fish.
Halloween- seriously-why
Things I don't understand

Death. Emotions. Love.
Covering all bare skin with kisses
Soupy, over cooked, weird looking meals
Loud when I talk. Loud when I eat. Loud when I fuck.
Reasons why I'm hard to date

Do you ever wish you could experience an illness so you can better relate to people?
Have you tested your body- how long will your breath hold underwater, how long can you go without eating, at what point does your body shut down for sleep?
How many tears have you cried for people and places you'll never have a chance to know?
Questions I'd ask if I didn't think the answers were always going to be 'no'

Daily dilly

I know these might be getting old at this point. But if you consider the fact that I don't hardly update my facebook because I erase everything I type and/or I post it for 10 minutes and then delete it, then maybe you can really appreciate them. I put a lot of effort into getting things out onto paper or onto here before I lose them. And yeah, a lot of them are incomplete or crappy or whatever. But this is my artistic journey. These are my words and feelings and thoughts. So get used to it.


I sought you out tonight because I needed someone to tell
Lately my mind's been trapped in its own hurricane
My heart's been ripped from my chest over and over again
To the tune of every mistake I can recall
I'm being eaten alive by the hornets
I mean anxiety. It's anxiety. It's stress and nervousness and fuck, it's hornets
Tonight, like every other night, I am searching for one solid night of sleep
A few hours without sweating, without completely drawing into myself
Maybe a night without the nightmares of what has been
I thought I could take it all by myself. I thought I was better.
After 11 years don't I deserve to be healed?
Like you get a few months under your belt and you forget
Maybe I'm not made to be on my own
I keep telling myself that I need to get back into therapy
That's got to be the scariest thing I could admit
Pry myself open and pick at the scabs
Sob in the chair, in the car, on my floor
Take a leap backwards in attempt to ever be able to move forward
For once can't I move forward?
Well anyways I thought I'd call and yet..
I dialed your number about a hundred times
Forgetting that it was disconnected
You're the only one who could stand in the eye of my storm
I'd call your number every day if I could still hear that voicemail
I swear to you I'd sing 'You Are My Sunshine"
Until my throat was raw and bleeding
If only I could have you back
Sorry that I write about you only when I need you
Sorry that I waited so long to reach out to you
Sorry that you're my happy place even when you're not here

Inspiration part 3

Today is the seventh of July and that means it's been over seven months
Since 4 years of our lives were packed in cardboard boxes
Since Holidays came and went without celebration
Since air mattresses and sellers and buyers and chaos
Today is the seventh of July and that means almost nothing
I don't know when you first looked at me and the spark wouldn't catch
I don't know when love became such a heavy burden
I don't know when we decided to lay it down at the end of the day with our keys and our worries
To pick up or resolve or acknowledge another time
With more time and more energy
I don't know when we realized that day would never come
It's been seven very fast months and I am still writing about it
But please know I am not writing about regret
Please know I am not writing about some vast amount of love I'm holding back for you
Know I am not writing about what if, what if, what if.
I am running a broom through the cobwebs of my heart and mind
When the emotions float around like dustbunnies
I pin them to the paper
I stare at them long and hard
I acknowledge them and then I let them go

Inspiration pt. 2

Trying to push myself to stop and write whenever an idea strikes. Expect lots of entries like this.

When I catch a hair
With the roots still attached
I think idly of the tests we run
For every victim we see
I think that someone could use this
they could hold it against me and say
we can prove every smile you ever faked
pinpoint every time you fell in to and out of love
produce a highlight reel of your grandest mistakes
I think that maybe I am a wide open book
My spine is soft and I fall open at the seams
I think my walls are so easy to tear down
Like a kingdom under siege
Men on horses fill their pockets with my love
Stuff their faces with my secrets; cheeks full and sore
I think I am the butt of a joke
Of a lot of jokes about things people don't understand
The mean, quiet whispers that haunt you in the dark
I think that maybe I am going to change some day
I am going to change some things and it will change me
I will lift the mountains and move them
I will scoop the seas and turn the tides
I will gulp down the winds and unleash a storm one day
There will be a story, or a mural, or a glint in someone's eye
For me