i feel my shoulders tensed up.

i feel my teeth pressing together.

words aren’t just sounds to me now.

i find an open seat and sit on the red plastic.

ease. breathe.

you belong here.

you’re allowed here.

i make subtle eye contact with the stranger sitting across from me.

im not afraid anymore, i’ve learned to smile.

books in hands comfort my pulse.

legs shuffle through concrete, and i’m not catching onto what i did before.

im letting go of it. all of it. i don’t need the weight to cloud my vision.

i know. i think too much, you’ve told me a million times.

but it’s just how i function.

like silk through my fingertips, it’s melted through.

how are you still here? i told you to go many times.

after all, peach and fuchsia whisper crisply in my ears,

ease. breathe.

you belong here.

you’re allowed here.

and i am the wind.

24 February, 2019


i’m not in school for the third time in my life. big deal, i should be used to it by now.

but i’ve had all the time i need to dissect my behavior for the past few years, past jobs, friendships, relationships.

i am becoming hyperaware of what i do to spend my time, and i am in full panic mode because i don’t feel progress. like SHIT!! i’m supposed to be doing a lot MORE!

i have two journals open in front of me, a magazine published in 2016, the cranberries playing in the background, a cup of now-cold tea next to me.

it gets scary when the things that comforted me doesn’t do the job it’s expected to do anymore.

but yesterday, i had a sudden urge to dig up this one song that i used to play on one of those apps that lets you download music for free. it reminded me of my usual path home, when i used to secretly smoke. it was raining. it was june.

i’m frantically searching for ways to feel sane. and i feel like i’m overlooking what i need to be looking for.

i always expect something for myself and maybe that’s whats so damaging.

i want to be the home i go back to for myself. i want to be able to comfort myself. i don’t want to be so mean to myself. i don’t want to think that this is a piece of shit writing because this is real and everything i feel. i don’t want to feel like i have to prove something to someone. i want to be doing me and being proud of it. i don’t want to feel like i have to adjust for others. i want to be friends with myself again because i haven’t been in a very long time. i’ve lost that connection over the course of this past couple of years. or maybe we weren’t friends in the first place.

i have a terrible relationship with myself.

i’m never honest with who i am. i shape-shift to fit in with others. i’ve done it for such a long time that i forgot how to even let myself be authentic in front of me.

there’s a constant mask.

there’s always a way that i’m supposed to be doing something.

being authentic was a lot of work because i felt i had to compromise with other people. i never learned how to be honest unapologetically because i was afraid of hurting someone in the process, when the sacrifice in that was myself.

now, according to my culture, i’m expected to be considerate of others. but its come to the point where i’m cutting off parts of myself where it doesn’t fit into this mold i’m expected to be in.

i’ve been in environments where this is encouraged, and i seemed to fight it with every cell in my being. however, ironically, it has seemed to become a default mindset somewhere along the way.

somehow, i’m trying to find every way in order for me to be a little closer to what i want others to see me as, killing bits of myself in the process.

perhaps the reason why i look to myself in 2017 is because thats when i thought i was the most authentic to myself.

i’m sick of how saturated media is, and how i still feed off of it. when was the last time my thoughts and desires weren’t controlled by pixels? i learned to identify with what the world seems to think. “i’m opinionated, i know what to think.”

signing off