thoughts.

As you pack everything away, wipe down the walls, and box everything up,

You lock away my freedom, my happiness

My soul rests in those boxes that are constantly shut in my face

As my creativity dies.

My feelings wither and rot down to scraps

And the life inside me and my space dies.

The artsy scars of paint, polish, beads, thread are my blood

The rain water is my oxygen

I thrive in a chaotic world,

Where stories are told,

And fables are born

With the aid of my music sending ripples down my spine

Ripples that no one else feels, smells, or sees.

And when I express these feelings through dark writing the message is always missed;

I am in love with death, destruction, and chaos.

I want to be death. But not dead.

I want to be love.

Loved deeply, like in a movie

Where love is black and white,

And young.

The fluster of romance confuses me.

And the night is a dancer 

Her dress made of stars and moonlight,

Her hard to read expression looking down on the world with anger.

Everyone thinks the sun is angry.

Because she is hot and dangerous,

But she isn’t jealous, 

Or mean,

Just lonely.

And the night is blamed for bad things. 

The electric rush of noticing a new thing 

About a familiar face

And the longer I stare

The more their face changes.

Anger scurries away under the shelves

The feeling of triumph and bitterness collide

And I feel endangered by vulnerability.

Music takes over my body,

Possessing me,

Forcing me to dance.

I sway form side to side,

Praying that the golden hour of my fever could last forever,

Until the song ends

I am no longer in Hawaii

The sun is not setting

I am in my room.

With artificial light and no windows.

I race upstairs, hoping the ghosts don’t nip my heels

And run to the rain

To taunt the sky and collect the water

To make potions that will do nothing but sit on my desk

And fail to make me rest.

I am restless.

You insult me

Without knowing the full story

Of how I spent hours making this outfit for you

The outfit you mocked

I bathed for hours 

Lathered and scratched myself dry

Just so you could say

“Gosh, you need some deodorant.

Take a shower

Wash you hair…”

I hate it.

It takes me a moment to realize 

Im anxious and nervous

Nervous about opinions

And night

And being alone.