4:29 AM An Account of What No Sleep Will Do in the Middle of the Night

I always find my head swimming with unwelcome depressive thoughts. Like little fishes, they hide amidst anemone until they think I’m gone, having drifted away into the ocean of sleep.

But here they are, more punctual than a newly tuned clock. They crawl back, shadows in a world that has had the lights turned out again. The light does keep them away for a while, yes, but never are they truly gone. Fear is an ever-present entity, and with anxiety and panic, it forms the holy trinity.

I’ve never known why they come. I haven't  got the answers, nor have I figured out how to get them to leave. When did I give permission to enter my house? When did my mind lower its guard just enough to let them pass, and what did the rest of my body do to stop them? Nothing, I’m afraid. They don’t have the answers either. If this is a class or a test, I’m surely failing.

How is everything so loud when silence is all around me? Where does the noise come from if nothing is making the sound? How am I to cover to my ears when the scream comes from beneath them, beneath bone and skull and brain? Oddest yet, I have no idea what the screams are saying. It is just noise.

Sleep—why are you running away from? Why do you play this game of tag with me? I don’t want to play, but I still find I’m “it” every time. Please let me forfeit. Please let me rest.

Unrest has been planting seeds in my head. I am left to weed while I should be sleeping. Just like farmers get up at 5 AM to plow the fields, I too am up at dawn, reaping what unrest has sown, only I don’t want what’s produced. Rotten thoughts and poisonous roots will kill anything that’s still holding on.

I feel at this very moment, that if someone were to press me into a ball and compress me, harder and harder, I could turn into a diamond. My heart and head have gotten a head start—they feel like rocks inside me. Maybe if my body turned into a diamond, I would be worth something.

It’s been hard to keep the faith that there isn’t something wrong with me. Normally, your head and heart work against each other in matters of life, but they have teamed up on me and now they say the same things. They both whisper about me and have inside jokes. My heart tells my head what I have given up and my head laughs that I was so stupid to give pieces of myself away. They both think I’m stupid, that I am hopeless. I doubt my kidneys or spleen will suddenly back me up in this war. All my other senses fail me too, and I am left unprotected, standing in the middle of the battlefield—armor-less and exposed.

You are not truly alone until your body has abandoned you.

Scents

I took a shower to get off the scent of you.
Did you know that you have a scent?

It smells like blushed cheeks and the hands that I buried my face in every time there was an awkward silence.

It smells like the cold air and falling snow as you pressed me up against my car.

It smells like you calling me baby, darling, or honey.

It smells like the first time we had sex, and I told you that you smelled like ginger.

It smells like talking to you for hours about the most random things and the connection I thought was there.

It smells like knowing you were avoiding me before you even told me, knowing there was something wrong even though you said there wasn't.

It smells like opening my phone to message you and seeing that you had deleted me on all accounts.

I used to go to bed with these smells on me.
Now, I scrub them off so I can forget.

my skin feels like satin,

my fingers like butterflies slipping across my lips

everything is fuzzy

hazy with light and life

my mouth is a cushion

my eyes are heavy with sleep

i want to be a part of everything

and never miss out

on a second of the life I have before me

what a beautiful day

what a beautiful life

Wounds

I pick at my problems
as if they were sores on my skin.
They hurt just as much,
but they're not as easy to remove.
They crawl around and burrow
where they can never be reached,
never to be brought to the light.
Always hidden, always festering and itching.
Always scratching at the problem I can't see.
Blindly searching for a remedy to an illness
I'm not aware of.
How do you fix the issue
when it becomes a part of you?

What is this?

i wouldn't call this depression

but i also wouldn't call this happiness

Signs

You know you're in love
when you'd trade your sanity
for just one more minute in their company.
When you'd jump off a building,
arms spread wide like featherless wings,
with just a glimpse of a hope that they'll
be there to catch you.
When you can count the hours on the clock
by how many times their name echos in your head.
It's a good thing I know what love looks like
so I can keep an eye out for it when it finally finds me.

senses of  an all-nighter

ever been so awake that even your bones seem to buzz?
Like you're a key tied to a kite, electricity coarsing through your veins
so alert that everything seems to be slow around you except
for your fingers, gliding across the keyboard as if they were
dancing some elaborate routine

The Crown and the Straw Hat

Once there were two brothers. Their father was the king, and they were princes. The eldest was given the throne when his father stepped down. This brother had a beautiful, elegant crown, forged out of gold and bejewelled in emeralds and sapphires. Everywhere he went, the prince wore his crown. Not once did he remove his crown, neither in the company of young women or the elderly. Now the younger brother did not want the life of a prince. His brother was already crowned the next in line, so he assumed the life of a modest farmer. He moved out of the palace, into a house that was as modest as he. This brother also wore a crown, though it was made of brittle, tan straw, and was made to keep the sun off of his head. This brother wore his straw hat in all the same places his brother wore his crown. His hat may not have precious gems, but the people loved it just as much as the beautiful crown, if not more. The only time the youngest brother took off his straw hat was to bow lowly to the fine women that passed by. Then he would replace his straw hat back on his head and return to his happy, modest life. One day, fate had it that the two brothers would reunite. The prince did not recognize his brother, clad in the garments of a laborer. Most of all, the prince noticed his brother's hat. He noticed it did not shine in the way his crown did. Nor was it of any value. And this, the prince made sure to point out. "Why sir, do you wear such a hideous atrocity on your head. It neither shines nor sparkles. How can one tell your status?" To this, the younger brother replied, "Your crown is too shiny, that it blinds you of the truth. You say your crown has value that my straw hat lacks thereof. But does your crown keep the hot sun off of your head? You do not know of the hard labor I perform, so you cannot appreciate the value of my hat. Your pride masquerades atop your head. It is a materialistic thing, and has no use, unlike my straw hat. Because I work hard and appreciate the things I have, my hat will forever be more precious than your crown can ever be. Just as humility is more practical than pride, so is a hat made of straw than a crown just for looks.

Waking Up Next to You

this is rough, and might not make complete sense because it just popped into my head and i wrote it in about 5 minutes. anyway, enjoy.





my head hurts from thinking of reasons not to kill you in my sleep
it gets so bad i've resorted to counting sheep
every night the reasons diminish a bit more
until all i'm left with is:
because I love you

sometimes i wish i could wake up alone
to a cold and empty bed
just to see what all the fuss is about

it doesn't seem such a bad thing
after countless mornings waking up to your morning breath
it's enough to wilt the flowers
but not enough to put me out of my misery
unfortunately

i've tried sticking my head in the oven with the breakfasts scones
i've attempted to stick my tooth brush down my throat as far as it goes

it's a shame i haven't drowned in the litres of drool you leave on the pillow
it's too bad i haven't been strangled to death by your limbs wrapped around me

i ask my self
when my eyes open,
another sleepless night gone by,
why it's you i have to wake up to
but every day it's still the same

because i love you

Mother Rhapsody (To the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody)

Okay, so this is a super rough draft of the song I literally just wrote in about two hours. It's a gift to my mother for Mother's Day this year. I plan to eventually videotape this with me singing and air guitaring possibly, because it's nearly impossible not to jam out to Queen. But yeah, please tell me what you think. And don't steal it unless you want to get punched in the nads/ladybits. Enjoy!






Is this just Sunday?
Or is it a holiday?
Made for our mother's
In the middle of the month of May.

Open your ears
and hear as i sing off key.
I'm just a poor girl, I'm clearly no emcee.
Because I can't sing, can't rap
Hope this song isn't crap.
Anyway here goes. Have a happy Mother's Day from me.

Mama, let's celebrate
Put some cake inside your mouth
Hope this song does not goes south
Mama, save the silverware
'Cause we're not going to throw them away.

Mama, ooooh
I'm trying to make you cry
Because you never cry when we watch movies
Carry on, carry on, as if Fantine's death never mattered.

Too late, I've come too far
This song will only get worse
But I need to say this first
Listen, everybody, I've got to say
gotta say what's on my mind and face the truth

Mama, oooh (anyway here goes)
I don't wanna cry
I sometimes wish you'd never get old at all

I see a little silhouetto of a mom
mama goose, mama goose, will you tell me a story?
Junie B and A to Z
very very exciting me
(C.S. Lewis) C.S. Lewis
(C.S. Lewis) C.S. Lewis
Lion Witch and Wardrobe
Oh the places you'll go

I'm just a poor girl and my mommy loves me
You'e just a poor mom who cleans up after me
Thanks for putting up with three monstrosities

Great mom, it is so. Just want you to know?
Mrs. Fisha! Yes, we want you to know (hope you know)
Mrs. Fisha! We do love you so (love you so)
Mrs. Fisha! Even when you tell us no (tell us no!)
Never, never let you go.
Always love you so, oh
So, so, so, so so, so, so, so
Oh mama mia, mama mia (Mama mia, love you so)
America has a holiday put aside for you, for you, for youuuuuuu

So you think you can send me to school and just say goodbye?
So you think you can deprive me of your cooking and leave me to die?
Oh, Tammy, can't do this to me Tammy.
Just gotta thank you, just gotta thank you right here.

(Oh, yeah, oh, yeah)

Just want to wish you,
For everyone to see,
Just want to wish you,
A Happy Mother's Day from me

Anyway here goes.

Sleep

i want to sleep
but it's as if my eyes don't want me to

The world does.
It covers me up and tucks me in.
It wants me to sleep.

Society hands me the pills.
They fill my mind with
tranquil thoughts.

They want to silence me.
"I need the rest."
Because there's something wrong with me.

I count the sheep
in their cosy barrel.
All it takes is one
and I am gone.

My worries are released
through the holes in me,
in the form of my blood.

Throughout my life they chanted,
"Close your eyes."
But now that I'm sleeping,
they call me weak
for not staying awake.

My necklace

I made myself a necklace
out of twine.
It fits so snugly around
my neck.
My necklace makes me feel
like a chandelier--
so beautiful
as I hang above.

My Relationship with Paper

I like you blank paper,
You're so naive.
I'd like to corrupt you with my words,
I mean, only if that's okay.
I want to paint my masterpiece on you,
but my paint brush looks more like a pencil
and instead of getting paint on my skin,
it's ink.
You're amazing, did you know that?
You've got so many possibilities,
even though you're empty.
It's nice to know that if I make a mistake,
I won't hurt you.
I'll just dust you off and there you go
good as new.
Thanks for being there
when I'm at a loss for words.
You make me realize
what that jumbled mess I call a mind
is trying to say.
And I like that you get discolored and wrinkly as you age,
just like me.
We really are a pair aren't we?

At Least I'm Something Pretty Now

my heart breaks

like the ground beneath me

under the weight

of the burdens that i carry

my stomach is bloated,

full of all the insults that i swallow

i seek relief in purging

these poisonous thoughts,

they slip out of my eyes

as despair in the form of raindrops

that liquid loneliness

distorts my vision as i look in the mirror

and take the insults that come from

the one who looks like me

but hates me,

just like everyone else does

in the world that breaks under my feet

the earth quakes and breaks

and suddenly i see that

at least one thing knows

how my heart feels

only when i’m eight feet under

do i feel at peace

no more in pieces,

in shards that can cut down

because no one should be shut down

or put in the corner,

baby i’ve waited for the day

when i’m finally a part of something,

finally useful.

at least now i can make the flowers bloom

at least now i’m something pretty

Black Swan

Head spinning.
Heart racing
To reveal the phantom
You're facing.

No eyes--
Only holes that hold
Your darkest fantasies.
Nightmares that morph into
Shadows that take shape of
Your innermost fears.

Not safe
Even where you used to call home
Because the heart is the home--
The womb that nursed
Your fears to reality.
Only way out is through fatality.

Why I Will Not Get Out of Bed

Why i will not get out of bed, you ask?

I'll simply tell you why.

It's the cold floor on bare feet

That makes me want to cry.

It's the school and homework

That I know lie ahead.

These are the reasons

I will not get out of bed.

Where warm blankets and soft sheets

Are always there for me.

Out of every place I could go,

My bed is where I'd be.

Too much action and thinking

Is expected every day.

These are the very reasons

In my bed I want to stay.

Bury Me: Inspired by Frances Harper's "Bury Me in a Free Land"

You may dig a hole wherever you please;
In California or the Florida Keys.
Make it where unicorns run free.
Just as long as there's no poverty.
My eyes would not close if I knew,
The things that people here say or do.
Bury me in the lines of a poem,
As long as in the stanzas free men can roam.
Lay me to rest where bullying is gone,
Even if that is on the edge of dawn.
A world where self-image is poisoned like an apple,
My tomb shall not dare to dapple.
I dare not rest where hurricanes have destroyed.
To live underground, I would be annoyed.
If I saw bombs fly and people die,
In death I still would manage to cry.
My soul shall not depart until I am at peace,
And know that this destruction shall cease.
I do not need a plaque or sign
To prove this spot is truly mine.
All that I need to be brave
Is the promise that this desolate land can be saved.

...Always

I cannot tell a lie,

I did not chop down the tree.

So believe me when I say to you,

There's no end to your beauty.

A Hera among shallow Aphrodites,

Sweeter than night's first star.

The most difficult riddle,

How I wonder what you are.

I aim to be your eyes,

And guide you through darker days.

No matter the circumstance,

In my heart, gold you will stay.

In Waiting

Unread notes on your desk
Your inbox full of
Unread texts

You lived a day ago,
But now it's today.
I still don't understand
Why you'd throw
Your life away.

You left behind
A trail of dust
And confusion in my mind.

Life was good I thought.
It was as good as it gets.
But now you lay
A splattered mess on the parking lot.
How could you jump with no regrets?

A big mess you left me.
I thought you ought to know.
Do you feel the least bit guilty?

Sleep is rare now that you're gone.
My dreams house so much despair.
I cry every night,
Hoping you'll be back at dawn.
But all I have is a pillow that smells of your hair.

To me, you are a coward
And a murderer
For making this life so hard.

How could you leave me with a broken heart
And a message on the answering machine
That you had no intent
To tear us apart,
At the weakened seam.

You said a world so cold
Is no place for a love
Like ours to unfold.

You said you look ahead
To the day we meet again.
But for now, you said,
Don't dwell on the dead,
We'll meet again where there exists no pain.

Exposed

I don't want you to see my scars,
But they're displayed
Like bugs in glass jars.

My blood congeals,
My wounds won't heal,
Won't let me be the person
I know is real.

All people do is say,
"Rub some dirt on it",
But they keep shoveling
hurt on it.

I live with my decisions
And I live with my pain.
My heart is weary
And tears fall like rain.

I hate who I am or
At least the girl in the mirror
That I see.
I can't look at my reflection
Without feeling guilty.

Ashamed of the pig
That stares back with
Lifeless eyes.
Embarrassed of the thing
That sits there and cries.

What sickens me most
Is my immense self-pity
And my need
To be called pretty.

The other half of me shouts,
"Get up, do something!"
Don't just whimper and sob.
Clean yourself up, you worthless slob

Stop feeling bad for yourself
And change who you are.
Put on a smile
And shine like a star.

But while stars seem
Like they gleam,
They're only their
schemes.

The white-toothed smiles
Are painted on,
The despair polished out of the eyes.
Their appearances, based on lies.

And the shining stars
Are just as hopeless
And faded as
The dead ones are.

But all stars did shine once,
Before they fell.
Back when bodies were just shells,
Not personal hells.

Back when
Personalities mattered,
Before the good ideals
Shattered.

Can we go back to that time
When everything was beautiful?
Or is that now
Impossible?