sometimes i think about that kid in the experiment
who was sat down and told to wait some time
before eating the sweetness put in front of him

that his patience would bring a reward

and i think about how they laughed when he didn’t succeed in waiting and instead
crammed the entire gummy bear into his mouth the second they left

looking so guilty afterward

the way they gloated and collected data and prognosticated about his future job prospects and potential success-
certainly not as good as those who waited, they said

it was something about self-control

i know all too well that when he got home
there were probably no sweets
or if there were, they were there for a moment only
before being snatched away by either cruel hands or circumstance
no guarantee that promises meant anything, much less that they were kept.

if it had been me in that chair
i’d have eaten it too.

i can navigate with the best of them
bouncing with bare feet down grassy hills
tumbling in the clouds,
my hair whipped around by the wind

i climb the highest towers, swim the deepest depths

i ride the mantas with no issue, their soft white wings hold me aloft
and we fly in the only way possible for me in this life:

together.

i think the first time i was truly gone was when i ripped out my hair

sitting in a classroom among people i didn’t know, in a place i didn’t belong, in a life that never fit, worried about everything

the handful felt right somehow, just wrapped tightly around my fingers
i pulled, and pulled, and

it should have hurt, but i felt nothing.

later that day someone on the bus home turned around
and took a picture.

i remember the wall where they posted everyone’s plans
what lofty dreams they were going to go chasing
what places awaited them
what futures
what shining destinies

i remember hesitating when the little shape was given to me to write on.

the world was like a river coming to the end of the land, and i could hear the rocks violently beaten smooth in an endless torrent

crashing just past the reach
of my eyes.

my feet are swollen again
that weird feeling when i take a step
the tension where it shouldn’t be, the skin creasing where it normally doesn’t
little whispers of consequences

the meds have been changed, i haven’t been working
i should be rested, i should have more energy

so why am i so

damn

tired?

the repeated deaths sustain me

microdosing the end of my life in a video game,
giving up all i have worked so hard to collect, all the hours spent amassing wealth and power
just to climb the mountain and rip it from my chest and give it away again and again and again

the repeated deaths sustain me
and when i press these fruits of labor to the cold stone where souls lay trapped
none of this is real, the action is meaningless in reality

but at least i can feel for a fleeting moment like what i do matters somehow, somewhere
in some digital space

the repeated deaths sustain me.

how am i even supposed to put into words how much it hurts
to see the lives they lead
the glinting forks raised to prone mouths
ceramide drenched skin clad in hand stitched silks
their watches worth more than i make in a year

their children living the dreams i had ripped away from me
like wings from the back of a butterfly at the hands of a careless child
the endless sky for them, wide horizons,
while i press my face to the dirt, struggle to survive-

the doors we open are doors.

but when one leads to the inside of an home where they can stay without care
and the other yields three old boxes of macaroni and cheese in the charity pantry which has been sustaining me for weeks

how can i even put it into words?

only made it to 13 today, unfortunately. but hey, at least we are still doing our best.

also showered today.

my mind is racing,

plugged into the never ending stream of information
and other people’s thoughts
and my own anxiety
and the need to know what is happening
and are they coming for us next
and how can we get away
and am i going to lose my job
and how to survive while homeless
and what are the best locations for car camping
and your bill is due on the 23rd or your service may be terminated and

fuck, my head hurts so bad
why does it hurt so bad

when is the last time i drank some water?

i look at it sometimes,
the way that some people can proudly wear a title
and not bend under the weight of it, like a crushing giant metal plate with expectations and lauding and prestige gouged out of the surface in sharp strokes, shining so bright my eyes have to look away

the way some people befriend that thing and wear it proudly, take all of that power for themselves and walk upright with it

i look at that and i realise just how

(small)

i am.

this lady is so sweet. i have been mostly immobile for about two years due to depression and various brain fuckery, but i am feeling a little better with my meds having gotten switched up here recently. i only managed to get through about half of the workout, but it was honestly a joy. hope i can come back and keep doing this!

we are on day four (i think? ) of the changed med dose.

still waiting on the disability stuff to come through, which is nerve wracking, but for right now i am okay. just anxious.

youtu.be/_nZ07OVtSmQ?si=HPd4Rc…

35- Another year,
and I am getting hazier all the while.
the blurriness at the edge of my brain is slowly expanding like cotton batting to dull the cutting edges of my consciousness
rending it ineffective, laughable, pathetic, loathsome,
not what was written on the tin

I wonder if, as a child, no one had ever told me that I was meant to be something spectacular
that I was meant to be ABLE, to ACCOMPLISH, to IMPRESS
'g I f T e D'

without that expectation, without that heartbreak,
I wonder if this state of affairs would bother me at all.

maybe i could embrace this life where i can't manage laundry or doing dishes or leaving the house or eating regularly or bathing or never going to college or struggling to pay bills or worrying about homelessness or being alone

that must be it. yes, that must be it.

i had a dream last night that you came through the door
familiar as always, warm and friendly and laughing
and i was so glad to see you.
you saw me, smiled, we embraced

it was such a nice dream,
but the ending was of course that i woke up content
wanting to roll over and see you

i was greeted by empty space
a gap, a scar. eleven years you grew there, next to me

i keep thinking that time will make it hurt less,
but i guess i have phantom limb and am still processing
that you don’t love me anymore.

years ago, hiding from the summer heat in a house owned by an awful woman
i curled up in my bed with a laptop, hiding from the light of the day,
my fingers tapping out some nonsense or another on a blogger post

a picture of a house covered in kudzu, fleeting thoughts of my upbringing and my parents’ divorce
the earth was so red, there was so much mica
i spoke to meedal, to deedar, to tasni suunsan

all of that is gone now, rotted away like the body of that bird in the bucket of water
rendered to nothingness, then cast away onto the earth.

if i close my eyes, i can almost smell the wonderful dark rotting leaves.

i get it, the reason people tie notes to balloons and send them into the sky

these poems are a bit like that for me-
words on a piece of paper that doesn’t exist, to be read by people who don’t exist

the thought of them in their bottle rising into the sky, though…

that theoretically visible glimmer in the distance, so easy to miss
a man adrift in the ocean with a black lifesaver
a whisper lost in a storm

i am so tiny
but i am here.

i’ll be 35 next week. i have limited food in the house, my brain is buckling under the weight of stress of existing, my bank account boasts a matching amount of pennies (one for each year i have been alive).

it’s not enough to sustain me.

i always loved the idea and feel of a new journal or sketchbook
crisp white pages, only maybe lines to guide what will come in the future

i would dream of what could appear there, what adventures the covers would contain
but then get lost in the fear of being inadequate, not the hero for that particular quest
mediocre, not enough, half-assed, a waste of paper

i have so many empty books.