Thoughts - Blog Posts

Hate hugs, love cuddles... Crave affection but wanna throw up at any compliments. What is my life 😭

My body craves the stars while my bones crave the earth; my mind is torn between the interstitial and I just wanna ✨ v i b e ✨

Why does my body have to be political, why does my gender have to be a fight, why does my sexuality have to endanger me, why does my mental health have to be both infantilized and demonized?

days off aren't long enough. you're telling me I have two days to do everything I can't do bc I work in two days? one of which I'm exhausted and mentally repairing myself, and the other I'm mentally preparing myself for the bullshit all over again???? ☹️

The ace to bi to pan pipeline needs to be studied.

"Oh I don't really like anyone, so I guess I'm ace"

"Well, I like girls and boys romantically so I guess I'm bi?"

"I was wrong, everybody's hot 😭"

Am I the only one who needs explicit consent to be friends? Like yeah you gave me your number and we talk all the time, but can I send you random stuff? Can I say we're friends? I'm not assuming anything, just tell me please 🥺

I was described as "in between the in-between" today and that is all I want to be referred to as from now on actually

People who try to talk you, who have obvious headphones/earbuds in are a plague. Like why are you mad I didn't hear you? Leave me alone, let me decompress before work in peace

Making friends is both the most difficult, full-body cringe inducing thing; and the most rewarding important puzzle piece of life that just solves so much big-sad energy you might have

Have you ever found a song that redefines you in a way that you can't imagine having ever not heard it before?

Working retail and fast food is so weird. Like you're telling me I have to pretend to like people? Who are rude?? All day???

Sometimes I tune back in and look around like "This is happening? Okay."

WAR.

Three rotations around the sun,

and sometimes I’m still not over it,

I know the war is what I won,

But those battle plans just won’t quit.

I dug many trenches back when fighting,

years later, they aren’t filled,

‘Should I’ve done things different?’ Keeps me awake,

With sleep deprivation, I’m skilled.

I think of who I might have been if you hadn’t happened,

But if not, I wouldn’t have met that man, I wouldn’t have stole his hat and,

Put it on; “combat vet” it read right on brim,

The two of us weren’t so different, we both had wars we tried to win.

But that’s the thing about going to war:

even if you come out on ‘top’,

The ghosts you met will follow you,

The haunting will never stop.

But there’s something nice meeting a veteran,

Literal or not,

He’ll support you unconditionally,

your back he’s always got

And so I bought him flowers,

A simple thought that crossed my mind,

I’ll never forget that smile

When he revealed it was the first time,

That someone gave him something

for his service, not anyone,

The thing is, he’s got no idea

how much for me he’s done.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

I don’t just love the way they love me; I love the way they make me love myself.

- LOVE, DEAR ABBY

“A hero is a person or character who is admired for their courage, achievements, noble qualities, who looks fear in the eyes and doesn’t even blink.”

That is the quote I saw on the wall of my sixth grade students classroom today. I strongly disagree.

All humans have hesitated. It’s instinct. It’s vital. It’s as strong as your heart beating. It is the culmination of thousands of years of survival. Hesitation is a universal experience.

Therefore, a hero always “blinks.” That ‘blink’ is the moment that human beings realize what they are doing. That singular defining moment that changes the gravity of the situation. The exact second that the given circumstances could produce a hero if the right choices are made.

Humans program robots. Robots don’t blink. If a robot were to walk through a path of throwing knives without blinking, would it be a hero? No, of course not. But by the first definition, they technically would be. The reasoning as to why they aren’t? Because the robot faces no repercussions. The robot has no risk. The robot has no real understanding of the danger, nor have they been forced to confront the facts of what they are up against.

That's where we come to our hero blinking. In order to be a hero, you must blink. You must have a moment to see the horrors that all logic would tell to run. Because it’s in that blink that the hero confronts the danger they put themselves in, and pushes forth anyways. That is what makes a hero. To have that shackling sensation of hesitation, and where most others would turn back, they trailblaze on. They trailblaze on anyway.

So here I propose a new definition:

“A hero is a person or character who is admired for their courage, achievements, and noble qualities, who looks fear in the eyes, blinks, and despite facing the world’s darkness, chooses to continue being the world’s light.”

KEYCHAIN.

Walking two miles in the night rain, crying, shaking, nervous,

Feeling like Red Riding Hood,

standing on my grandmothers porch, How do I tell her,

her son’s the Big Bad Wolf?

She tells me in public that effort goes both ways,

That I need to try harder,

She knows that he’s made his choice,

That he doesn’t care and that he’s no father,

The fact that in public, she’ll tell me one thing

and in private, something different

It’s all an illusion and smoke screen.

I know that I was never important.

Holding that stupid keychain is proof that I never stopped trying,

So often I try to make plans and he’d put me off every time,

She’d look at me as I cried to her, with her own crocodile tears,

I don’t know how her son being a deadbeat isnt one of her biggest fears.

And so I left with that same keychain, not knowing what to do with it

Maybe I’d throw it in the woods or a lake, but I couldn’t go through with it.

I held onto that thing for a goddamn year and it taunted me every day

Until I eventually found the person it belonged to, the person with whom it was meant to stay,

I had a whole speech ready to recite upon giving him that keychain,

But of course, when it came time to actually do it, I had nothing in my brain.

I stuttered and rushed and mumbled hoping that whatever I said,

Would still carry its meaning and at the very least make sense.

To my surprise he actually cared, and used his words to convey,

How much he loved and was honored that I’d given him the keychain.

Immediately, he hung it up somewhere safe, making me feel like a daughter,

It was then that I realized I had missed out on what it felt like to have a father.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

DRAWER.

I get the feeling and a strange sense,

that you’re glad that I escaped, that from there I left.

When our towns daily newspaper had talked about me,

I wonder if you bought that edition to see.

I wonder if somewhere you hide a secret drawer,

where you keep your memories and regrets,

Movie tickets, funeral cards,

newspaper clippings, and cassettes.

Do you go through that drawer while sitting on the couch,

The one my mother designed from the catalog?

That couch that has seen you through three marriages now,

The same one your new wife sits on?

I wonder what the difference between us is,

why we are the way that we are,

We don’t have many similarities;

The contrast is so stark.

Your opportunities were boundless,

You could’ve done anything,

your parents were married and owned their home,

you played sports in the spring.

But me, I didn’t have those privileges,

and it’s all because of you,

my childhood I spent bounced back-and-forth,

you divorced when I was two.

Mom raised me independently,

and independent I was raised to be.

Everything I’ve done is no part thanks to you.

Its all been because of me.

But even all these years later,

I know you’ve watched, and listened to the grapevine.

Even after everything that’s happened,

you’ve been proud of me all this time.

I wonder if someday when you’re gone and when I get that call,

I’ll go over to your place, survey, and start to comb through all,

your personal belongings, prized possessions, and some more,

But I wonder more than anything, if I’ll ever find that drawer…

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

NOVOCAINE.

I know attention’s what she craves,

while you reminisce of now lost days.

Lying in the bed you made,

This cautionary tale of novocaine.

“Listed on my Wiki page,

There’s a list of whom I’d been betrayed,

Alongside accomplishments and accolades,

that you missed while you were away.

“That same list tells of who I’d claimed,

As lessons I’ll take to the grave,

Those lessons struck me, taught me, trained,

You made me “love” tasting blood and pain.

“We both knew you’d never change,

And thus so, you set the stage,

to view the downfall of your name.

A name I now push from my brain.

“I chewed and bit my lips by day,

To stop from talking, as to not say

How much I hate you, but I refrained,

Because my mother taught me ‘Grace’.

“But I grew tired of this relay.

Why should I be the one to maintain

This toxic joke you call a family?

I grew up, while you grew afraid.

“That’s what kept me alive and sane,

Yet what keeps you quiet and ashamed.

The fact that your love slowly drained,

And it’s all on you, your choice, your mistake.

“All your promises were fake,

Waited for that phone that never rang,

The gardens of my mind I raked,

My own sanctuary, I’d make.

“The anger and fury that burns away,

your scorching guilt will never fade.

And at night you’ll lie awake.

while your dreams die, your ‘heart’ slowly breaks.

“You search for forgiveness everyday,

Desperately reaching out in vain,

hoping to grasp a new blank slate,

but you and I know that’s insane.

“You look in the mirror but see my face,

It’s too late now, you can’t escape.

A hollow shell is what remains,

The colors gone, it’s all plain.

“Behind that ‘bride’ of yours who’s vain,

Who’s really more your ball and chain,

She only said yes to have a way,

To meet those bills she couldn’t pay.

“So let this be your take-away,

Two have always played this game.

You’ve learned victory you can’t claim,

And I now walk a different place,

“I see your life stuck on this page,

From which you can’t turn, it’s in flames.

It makes me relieved to finally say,

‘From you, I’m the one who got away’.”

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

I used to be so dependent upon you. Now I realize it was you who needed me to need you.

At least I have my cat.

“I stand outside looking at the moon, thinking of you somewhere also bathed in its light.”

Sorry about the clothes on my back being in the way when you stabbed me

“I miss the person I used to be when I had you.”

Let go of what doesn’t bring you happiness: feelings, objects, people…

“I live for you more than I live for myself.”

“…and it was that day I realized it was hopeless; for I was simply a mosaic of everyone I’d ever loved.”

I would rather be hated for who I am than be loved for who I’m not.

I want a relationship where they don’t just scratch my back, but massage and draw on it softly giving me tingles as I fall asleep.

Closing the chapter with someone doesn’t make you cruel; it simply means they aren’t a part of the next one.