Farewell to my old me,
lusting for magical nights in strange places.
Goodbye to my old me,
begging to make all the mistakes I can.
I loved you with all of me
plead for you to be my one.
Claimed to have formed wholly
declared you are my self.
A journal entry on feeling stagnant:
It is blasphemous for me to feel this way. It is blasphemy to nudge the world with my thoughts by putting them on paper. It is a miscarriage of ideals to almost be as good as I want to be. I feel as if I might as well have been born still. I feel nothing but friction, vibrating back and forth but never going anywhere. I feel like I was born to stillborn parents, never having learned anything from their mistakes. I feel as though the world owes me everything and nothing. I feel like I am an intrusion. A peculiar future death waiting to happen. I feel as though the only purpose I serve is to give the race less air to breathe, less space to live. I am a living cultivation of what it looks like to ungrow, to unthrive, to be still.
A journal entry on the postpartum period:
What they don’t tell you when you’re about to be a mom is that it takes a while for that tsunami- over the moon- head inside out- intense motherly love to kick in. I remember the exact moment it kicked in with my daughter. Before that moment, I would still do everything I had to to nurture and sustain her. I clothed, bathed, nursed her. I didn’t sleep or eat properly. I fully came second and she was the most important thing in my life. But what I felt wasn’t love in the beginning. It was a need to take care of this little tiny thing I birthed. So I nursed her on demand, often meaning I barely slept. I worried about her nonstop; is it too cold? too warm? is she clean enough? full enough? healthy enough? safe enough?
This continued for two months. When she screamed I ran to her, when she cried I felt guilty and made a pact to myself that I would never let her cry for as long as I exist (she cried again 5 minutes after I made this pact). I felt like I had this fog which persisted and followed me everywhere. It was in my brain, consistently. It was like a purulent infection of the mind, consuming who I ‘was’ and oozing this layer around my brain. I was not myself anymore. I could not think straight. It was predominantly caused by lack of sleep. But there was this other side to it, where I knew I wanted things done a certain way and as the mother, I had to be the one to do those things that certain way. Continue reading
She erupted her newfound positivity into their world
Manipulated his absence into wonder
Thrust herself into broken forgotten dreams
Discarded the gold mines he offered
Into the dumpster she named after him
I felt her breaths decaying;
breaking into micromolecules
broken but whole
refurbished into acceptance
of the decay
of the heartbreak
of the strength
it took for her to give up. Continue reading
She hugged her growing belly tight with her palms, _I can’t wait to meet you._ She smiled, as her baby responded with the sweetest little kick, as if to say “Me too.”
Her mind drifted to her own mother and all the fading memories she has of her. The only ones that haven’t faded are the ones of her mother fighting for her. The unconditional support she always kissed into her pores. She sat at her writing desk, thought of all the wishes and dreams she has for her little girl, and began: Continue reading
Slipping and slithering
Smiling in gratitude to
her addiction to
she succeeded. Continue reading
her cold knuckles
punching the world.
the cause of
her now broken voice box.
minute resting restless body. Continue reading
away. Continue reading
over everything else
is to be able to
push myself to
get over her. To Continue reading
It’s as if
I’m living in an alternate realm where
only I exist
and my comprehension of people
is the only truth behind their existence.
I’m bred from the love I have for myself
and the love I have for the ones around me. Continue reading
the broken friendships,
the heartache. Continue reading
They always ask:
what your drive is:
What your aim is:
What your lifelong goal is.
They ask Continue reading
side by side-
top to tip
to free our
pale skin to the sun. Continue reading
She was faced with a choice;
Off the top of her lungs
Off the edge of a cliff
Off for the whole world to hear
That this isn’t it
That this is not what she wants
This is not how she sees her life going
This isn’t right
A choice to yell Continue reading
There is a piece of me-
that loves destruction.
It’s the same part
that digs my nails into my skin and enjoys the pain it inflicts.
It’s the same piece that only feels alive
when I can unleash the anguish in my head
physically onto my skin. Continue reading
Living in a facade of strength,
but in reality, engulfed in nothing but humanlike perceptions
full of limitations and convulsions,
Unsure of what, but walking on an
which seemed to be leading me somewhere.
I hoped that i’d end up shaking hands with
a sure outcome.
a sure ideal.
Or, hopefully, a sure doctor? Continue reading
Letter to my sixteen year old self:
Don’t let the world drag you down. Don’t let anybody tell you what you are and what you aren’t. Your mother spent years calling you beautiful, don’t let society tell you otherwise. No, she isn’t crazy. (And no, a donkey is not a gazelle in his mother’s eyes.) Moms aren’t blind, they just see the beauty in you that you haven’t learned to see yet. She’s building you up in a society that is dragging you down. You owe that woman your strength as a woman later on in life. Continue reading