Withdrawn Periods

withdrawn periods

I keep reminding myself of the reasons why you need me but somehow they never stick. I am constantly worried that I am not good enough.

I get that you’re distant distant with everyone. I get that you come to me. that I’m the problem solver. the secret keeper.

But my love and your love— platonic or otherwise— are not the same and I do not know if they are compatible.

I’m supposed to be the angel on your shoulder the reassuring friend the one to tell you that you’re being silly when you talk down on yourself— but you are wondering if you even can love and truthfully I am beginning to have my doubts.

no longer

Our whole lives color coded: clothes and toys. Pinks, blues: our personality defined. We were not given our own ways to find, accepting, brainwashed, that boys will be boys, all full of violence, assaulting noise, and girls will be their perfect pets divine, discreetly bred to be domestic, kind, conditioned to submit, to watch with poise.  

Awaking from our blindness, bit by bit we are uninstalling unjust lessons. Exploring, we inspect and question it, no longer puzzle pieces forcing fit. We wonder if we are just daughters, sons because no longer do we idly sit.

angels of the deep

A swarm of statues awakens within the cold, stirred by the tampering of man. Their stony gowns weigh them down as they rise from the chill of the waters, like cicadas in July, until the last emerges from the expanse of the night sea. She gently lowers herself, clutching the waves as if they were stone themselves, and lifts her waterlogged moth wings, slowly opening her eyeless lids. The artificial intruder looms before her, threatening the calmness of her organic domain. The sight of the illuminated white, the sounds of her sister screeches draw her toward the abomination. Every instinct she has is screaming Danger.

bruised stars

Her hands—always freezing—they are alive. Her dead eyes are blinded by city lights. She counts blessings until she adds up five And now she struggles with putting up fights.

She doesn’t have a personality. She owns every one of them, all at once, Mind dancing with originality. She aches to be gone but she’s been here months.

Her laughs and smiles are a bit too forced. No one seems to notice her behavior. Her humor has become too stiff and coarse. She has long stopped waiting for her savior.

Her sky is filled with jet black and bruised stars So she seeks refuge in distant sandbars.

awkward first date

why does this always happen?

long silences filled with quick eye contact and giggles for no reason

like an awkward first date

no one would guess that we’ve known each other for years

little touches

leaning in

hugs that last too long

life away

Life changes. Mostly in small amounts that you never really notice. Sometimes bigger things, but things that don’t affect your life personally. Mostly it just seems too far away to matter. Like hearing about an earthquake halfway around the world. Yeah, it’s sad, but you’ll forget about it eventually. You’re allowed to do that. It didn’t happen to you.

And then life changes in a big way. a really big way.

This isn’t the way it works. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.

It seems distant until it happens to you. Then it’s up close and personal.

And you don’t understand why everyone else treats it as a distant problem.

This is huge. Why don’t you care?

The world spins at 1,040 miles per hour but nobody feels a thing.

Distant news.