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"Some people's lives seem to flow in a narrative; mine had many stops and starts. That's what trauma does. It interrupts the plot . . . it just happens, and then life goes on. No one prepares you for it. 

"I leave claw marks in everything I touch. But I would sooner gnaw off my own leg than admit that I just want someone to stay for once.

"I don't want my life to be a perpetual loop of trying to recover from something after something and someone after someone. 

I don't want recovery to be all that I am.

"All my grief says the same thing; this isn't how it's supposed to be. And the world laughs, holds my hope by my throat, says: but this is how it is."

existing with melancholy

I am sad, all the time. 

Even when I am happy. 

There is a pit in my chest. 

Everything I do is enrobed in grief. 

My mom is gone. 

And that is in everything I do. 

My dad is gone. 

And that is in everything I do. 

I have lost these parts of me that I will never get back. 

A vital, intricate part of me. 

Is gone. 

I am seeing the world through the distorted lenses of grief. 

losing where i came from

This feeling

It yawns and swallows me whole.

No matter how much I claw at the the warmth, it will slip through my fingers like sand. 

Hopeless.

I look around. Where do I go? I can't, I just

It's gone. It's all gone. 

I am alone. 

Truly, utterly alone. 

I want to go home. But home is gone. She's gone. 

God, I just want to be home. 

will I ever change

Take me home. 

Oh God, I need you more than ever.

Save me from my sickness. 

I'm hoping you will take me away, I'm on my knees before you. 

Do you love me in the midst of my condition?

Take me from myself.

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"I'll clench my teeth on holidays and try to talk to ghosts. 

I'd be lucky if I made it half as far to only die on hills that are closest to my heart. 

 

If I'm lucky enough, I'll tell the truth every chance I get. 

Beause smiles faked to appease another is worth ten regrets. 

If I'm lucky enough, I will get through hard things and they will make me gentle to the ways of the world." 

June & Grief

"There is something so nostalgic about a slow June night.

The singing cicadas seem to recall a story that is never meant to see the light. 

The breeze is heavy, as if it is carrying my pain and the air is damp, as if it is grieving my loss, hiding my tears as if they fear the rain." 

helpmehelpmehelpme

one day, one day one day

my fingers will rake the ground 

throat will shred as i wail

cradling this broken frame

screeching 

decades of agony

decades of rage

the sickening need

to never feel again

my heart is rotting