I am a poet and a photographer
To see more of my work check out
@soggy.waffle.poetry and @kaysphoto.graphy on Instagram
Take care! Thanks, I will! I don't. I skip meals, I don't wash my hair for days at a time, I don't lotion my body knowing my skin is extra sensitive come winter time. I smile when I feel like crying a river and I criticize each and everything I do.
Just because I am a closed book does not mean my feelings should go unnoticed. Yes of course, I get nervous when asked "are you ohkay?" Especially in front of a room full of other people and yes only two people across the room who can't even hear you count as a room full of people... Why? My anxiety says so.
This is my happy place, as odd as it may seem sitting in my jeep hours on end if it were comfy enough I'd just sleep in it and I'm sure I could do so.
The way we dress doesn't mean yes, and what I mean by that is; yes, our skirt is slightly above finger tip length, no you may not stand close to us.
Stressed and depressed. And you may not see this, that I am not reaching out for help. I am screaming but thing is these walls are thick and my doors are locked, my ceiling will not cave in, due to worries that I will escape, and I am not in the proper mental state to really actually care about this when and where type of shit. So I am sorry to anyone who actually tries to help I feel like I am just broken beyond repair, I am broken so I just sit there.
How are you? Fine. Wish I was better. It is hard, if I am going to be honest. It isn’t easy living every day and it is even harder to breathe; my life jacket is on its last float. I have got to start learning how to be I guess happy. I don’t always have bad days, but the sadness still lingers there as if it has nothing better to do but I guess the only best thing sadness has to do is to cling onto a broken spirit and fill its cracks and davits with concrete depression and replacing your blood cells with kerosene.
3 A.M. I lie awake, wide awake on this bed that I cannot bare to sleep on. Though it is not the bed that is the issue but my brain that is causing this. I do not know who is to blame, I don't want to point my fingers one way when they will just point another and betray me at the same time. There are days where even taking the smallest breath feels like acid is filling my lungs, days where I would rather jump off of the side of a cliff rather than seeing what tomorrow holds, then there are days where I am just O.K. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just neutral, in between. Days where I cannot open my eyes until the dead of night and no wonder I cannot sleep. It feels as if this road I am walking along is becoming more and more narrow than the days before; I have bad eyesight unless I wear my second pair of eyes but I can tell you now that this is not a narrow road it is just a thin, thin line. If I wanted be a tightrope walker wouldn't you imagine that is what I would have become? I do not want to be apart of this circus any longer but what more can I do? I have hardly been eating, I feel so weak. The problem is this sickness taking over me. It's not like I can just go see a shrink and it will all go away. No. I've talked enough. I do not want to talk anymore. My past is why I have this imbalanced chemical in my brain in the first place. Talking won't make these demons go away.
I have dealt with depression for a while. I started cutting when I was 14, but one day my stepfather came into my room to wake me up for the day and he saw the cuts and asked and I shamefully blamed it on the cat; so then moments later, mom comes in the room freaking out. So much more help right? So I didn't touch the broken glass in my bathroom drawer again. What I did do though was found cool or cute little fake tattoos, put them on, and then carve the shape over the tattoo. Then I covered it to heal it, but mom saw the sweat band and wanted to know why it was there and what was there. She flipped of course, "YOU COULD GET AN INFECTION" I knew mom. I knew that. That didn't mean I cared, I was developing issues I didn't understand.