PagesOfDreams

You can try to undo my sutures with forceps, but I won't let you. My wounds need to heal.

I'm tired I'm tired of the fear I have tightly in my chest of the terror that I could lose my reproductive rights of the panicked thought that fascism will overtake America I'm tired I'm tired of the dread that peaceful protesters will be jailed more and more that gay and trans communities will continue to lose rights that people of color will continue to be abused I'm tired I'm tired of the lies people eat up from the president's mouth the ignorance that he loves to spread the hatred he revels in spewing the egomaniac that he is I'm tired I'm scared

We all know that legends never die, and that potential leaders need to rise. Does that awaken the phoenix in your soul? Does that cause the fire to take control? Or do you feel yourself slowly sink into the ground?

It's been too long, my legs wrap around you tightly. I'm engulfed by you, I close my eyes to feel the intensity, the pleasing song inside of me. The warmth in me radiates, crying to seep out. Je t'aime mon amour.

Pointed ears, caressed by silver, gold, and jewels; Delicate smooth skin, the color of tree bark. The smell of patchouli gently drifted past her nose; Angel kissed sunlight embraced the leaves.

I think I stood in the middle of traffic, waving at myself. What I tried to say to myself, I don’t know. Wait, or was that a mirror? If this is a mirror, why do I feel like I’m being crushed by wheels? Why do I feel like I’m looking both ways and there isn’t an opening for me to merge? Why do I feel like I’m floating in the air in slow motion, waiting for my body to hit the pavement? It’s like I’m in many places at once. I’m living in the past and the future. The present, the future, the past. The past, the present, the future. I can see my nose, but I can’t see my nose, my brain hurts. I can feel my brain in my head, yet it’s floating there, it’s not sitting on anything. I’m just arms and legs and a transparent nose.

Only dust on the wall, pay no mind at all, my mind doesn't matter. I'm just a machine, I don't cry at all, no, no, I don't cry at all, dear one. I'm not screaming at my hands, while you're screaming at me, no, no, I don't feel anything at all, dear one. I don't cry on the inside, while you're yelling at me, no, no, dear one, I feel nothing at all, nothing, nothing, at all, no, no, I feel nothing, nothing at all. I am made of iron, made of steal, I am made of nothing living, dear one, oh, oh, I feel nothing, nothing at all. I feel nothing, nothing at all. Cuz I'm nothing, nothing at all.

I don't know what to write. I have all of these ideas jumbled in my head and I can't make sense of any of them. I wish I could write something so profound that it will blow people's minds. I am so tired of my "functional" anxiety and depression, which leaves me in a foggy haze. I miss writing so badly, and I just can't push the words caught in my throat. I can't make sense of them. I thought I had found myself, that I didn't need to write anymore. That everything was perfect. But now I know that perfection is a lie, and I need to take care of myself. I used to write about different bones of the body, skin, hair, and what they could express in writing. I used to know how to use my tongue instead of swallowing it whole.