oiled floors

it slipped through slots in the cage

black oozing down

puddling on my feet

a throbbing mass of oil

staining stark sneakers

i feel the spot it left

ribs protect emptiness

 

(is this heartbreak) 

 

 

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Untitled

you pull on heart strands

thinking i dont feel pangs

assuming they snap back smoothly

a rubber band suspended by tension

hearts dont work with spaghetti strings

 

you wonder why i dont feel joy

why my smile lacks heat of a

thousand candles

stars vacant from my eyes

blackholes enveloping any warmth

i stare back at you

 

do you need to ask

you already know

you are slowly poisoning me

from the inside out

 

 

 

Untitled

i often wonder if dreams are meant to entice

or destroy

if you bound onto a cloud

trampolining across the red horizon

do you fly indefinitely

or tumble from too high

 

what elucidates

the purpose you serve for the world

do i have one

is my purpose to be purposeless

a single drop lost among the myriad

of atoms

slowing slipping senselessly

into the earth

we all end up there, anyway.

 

 

ive heard if it isnt working

you didnt use enough duck tape

but i am a mummy

and i still fall apart

 

 

if baby birds get pushed out of the nest

learning to fly from the fall

why didnt anyone push me

or was i born without wings

 

do caterpillars know

they become butterflies

or do they spin a cocoon

blindly enveloped by dark

what happens if it never ruptures

i dont think mine did

 

what would happen if atlas dropped the world

the loneliness of the burden

finally depleting the fragment of strength

left in his body

but aren’t we all atlas

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Untitled 

The rain falls

Creating a layer of water

on my skin

I don’t feel it

Often

As my brain numbs out

So to do I become

apathetic

to the material

There is something so

Powerful accompanying

Not feeling

So overwhelming is the

Utter lack of sensation

the body ceases to react

As it would

Otherwise

So I stand

While the rain pours on

And my apathy persists

Indefinitely

pleaser vs. rebel

Sometimes you have to do hard things you don’t want to do to get to the outcome you desire. Sometimes you do them without a second thought, either because you don’t want to face the dissatisfaction or because you simply don’t think about the task at all. Sometimes, however, you think about it a lot (maybe too much) and it pisses you off.

Or… if you are like me… you do the last thing every time. You think, dwell, simmer, get angry, and then come to terms with it (hopefully). You realize, ultimately, what you don’t want to do is simply a means to an end.

I do all of these and more. I am, as some tend to describe me, a “mix of wanting to please people and rebel.” Which, frankly, is a shitty combination because it means I have an internal dialogue with very different, opposing voices.

“You need to do the thing because it is what will make others the most happy.” 

“Rebel. Definitely rebel. Don’t let them control you.” 

Every. Damn. Time.

There, in my mind, is a fine line between being controlled and being asked to carry out something. I often struggle to find the divide and tread lightly down the middle. I have a very strong sense of individuality and tightly held beliefs surrounding personal rights and expression. It is, in some ways, what helps to make me “me.”

My thoughts are not often political–though personal expression and cultural norms seem to be becoming more and more prominent in some areas of politics anyway. Frankly, I don’t know what ideology I hold in the politics realm… I am still trying to find out and I probably will be developing and then re-developing those beliefs for a long time to come.

What I do know, however, is that I despise how one’s appearance can limit, influence, or determine what jobs you get, how well you are paid, and the way one is perceived in the workforce and society.

I am not shy about my piercings. I have a lot. I think they are done tactfully, and I find them to be a wonderful means of personal expression. I dye my hair. I love to change it up (though by change it up, I mean different shades of red because I LOVE RED HAIR). I wear black. It’s my color of choice and in what I feel most confident. I do not dress “feminine” and that shouldn’t matter–regardless of my heterosexuality. Sexual identities can be fluid and diverse and whether or not someone “looks the part” is simply a societal standard stuck in the past. I say this because I am aware that I am an individual with privileges not afforded to some and I, in no way, want to downplay others’ struggles.*

But in a landscape rife with people wanting you to “fit in,” personal expression makes it hard to comply… and I don’t want to abide by their rules anyway.

In my new job, as a server, I see a lot of different people. Some might be a bit alternatively dressed–in a way similar to me when I am not in my uniform–while others would disagree or look down on my choices of expression. In this industry, to make money (tips) you have to conform to the majority–whether you want to or not. I don’t want to. And here is where the “pleaser vs. rebel” personality of mine comes in again… fit the mold and make more money… or be yourself (at least piercing wise) and potentially get less for it. Ultimately, because we work be a shared tip system, I decided to “fit” a bit more. Whatever the hell that means.

It was a hard time coming to that decision. I dealt with some personal doubts surrounding my expression after someone implicitly called me a whore for the way I looked and scolded my choice to wear more earrings that I “should” as well as have a nose ring instead of a stud. (For the record, “more” meant less than half of what I COULD be sporting and very conservative jewelry).

Hearing that I am “whore-ish” was not pleasant and it made me doubt a lot of my choices. It made me look in the mirror and wonder if all of these piercings suit me or I just tricked myself into thinking they look good on me. It made me self-conscious and insecure and quiet because I, all of a sudden, doubted most of my being. I am not surprised I had this response for a bit, considering my past (and current) struggles with body image and self-worth.

But consider that a comment such as the above could create that much of a response… it’s plain sad.

I put too much worth in what others say to me. It is the pleaser part of my brain. But the rebel will then hop in with a “fuck that” and I tend to move on… after a while.

My choices should have absolutely NO effect on whether I am worthy of pay for my work or a higher position. But they do. Because in a society like ours, people believe that everything should be there to please THEM. Of course, not everyone is like this, but I am speaking in a general sense for the ease of this discussion. Just like my sex can limit me (looking at you lower pay for women in the same position as a male counterpart… that is STILL a problem), my appearance can.

But guess what… neither SHOULD.

This is not a small issue to fix. It is not something that CAN be fixed in days… months… maybe even years. It is society wide. It is ingrained in beliefs. It is insidious.

I don’t support it. I never, ever will. And I will, ALWAYS, be the rebel when it comes to fighting these inherent judgements. The pleaser part of me gets shut the fuck up.

 

 

 

*I want to make it clear that I do not and cannot say I understand all the struggles of not conforming to what others (and the greater society) think you should look like or be. I do, however, understand a select amount.

living in limbo

I did something I never, ever thought that I would do: I quit.

I quit my job. I decided that I couldn’t do it anymore. I needed something new–something better for me and my mental health.

It was probably one of the hardest things I have had to do. That might sound strange, but I have a tendency to want to people please. And leaving a place because I am the one who wants to is very different for me. Doing something because it is in MY best interest is an action I have only recently begun to act upon consistently.

I’m in a strange place right now. I am stuck waiting for a few different events to either play out… or not. And that is difficult for me, because I have no control over them anymore. I can no longer influence the outcome–they are in others’ hands.

Limbo is, well, uncomfortable, almost by nature. But it is especially trying when the limbo rests between what *feel* like two very different, important outcomes.

It is nearly impossible to resist trying to affect the outcome one way or another.

Sitting here, writing this entry, my brain keeps pointing out all the other, more productive (or not) things I could be doing instead. It keeps trying to redirect my brain to something more comfortable. Because that is what it is supposed to do–help me be comfortable.

But change, bravery, lessons do not lie in what is comfortable. No, one must leave the comfort zone to discover something new. For nothing is unknown in comfort, in the common.

What’s worse is that old habits lie waiting in the discomfort, trying–though unsuccessfully–to win me back. It was expected, but not welcome. Unhealthy habits are never welcome.

I’ve been vague in my discussion above for a reason. I intended to NOT name what it is I am waiting for and in limbo between. Because it doesn’t matter.

There are always going to be these weird times of limbo. The events, decisions, actions are going to change–but the feelings, they stay the same.

The discomfort lives in the limbo–it always will. It’s what you do IN the discomfort that makes the difference.