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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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Dragon Age

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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Self, Care

Am I doing it right?

I took a bath with eight capfuls of eucalyptus bubble soap

instead of the recommended four.

I ran the water fever hot.

I wonder how long that feeling will last on my skin.

it doesn't last long.

The next day,

I read a poem about this bath

to my creative writing class.

Call that vulnerability.

Gold star for me and my vulnerability.

I make tea with my vulnerability,

and sometimes I let other people sniff the fumes—

raspberry-pomegranate-flavored-matcha-green—

but I never make a full pot

because I guess I don't want anyone else

to burn their tongues on my scalding vulnerability.

They like my poem, I think.

I don't listen to their response,

I am glad when it's over.

I answer their questions about it without

really answering their questions.

I don't think they notice.

As for me,

I absorb their comments like vitamins

and, as such, the excess is filtered out

in the middle of the night, when I'm trying to sleep.

When I'm tired, I try badly to stay awake,

when I want to sleep, I am kept awake by various physical sensations,

which I may complain about on Twitter

(gold star for my vulnerability)

but maybe not, because I'm trying to detox,

and by that, I mean I'll stare

at Duolingo, the Atlantic, YouTube, and Netflix,

instead of Twitter, Instagram, Tik Tok, and Snapchat,

and when I talk about it to my friends,

I feel the need to compare myself to an addict

in rehab

to get over heroin.

Because, in my mind, they are the same thing.

Call that empathy. Gold star for me and my empathy.

Am I doing it right yet?

This poem makes me feel good,

when I write something that makes me feel good,

I feel as though I could be talented.

But do I like myself for it?

If I get too cocky, I might have to cut myself down to size.

But it's no use. My ego haunts me

like a bad childhood memory.

I didn't feel guilt for the first time until I was fifteen.

It took that long

to feel sorry for pruning the leaves on my relationships,

until the plants disappeared

and I forgot what species they were.

Even now that I have friends, I can admire,

can I be trusted not to rate myself more highly?

Call that self-confidence.

Goldstar for me and my self-confidence.

When I get home from work,

I take another bath, hotter than before, with wine.

The wine and the heat make me dizzy, which is good

because I can't fall asleep unless I'm dizzy.

But later I will not be able to sleep

because this is my third hot bath in a row,

it's winter, and my skin is so dry that it will itch and burn

as if every fabric I touch were made of fire ants.

But for now, I am comfortable.

Call that self-care. Gold star for my self-care.

More of a participation trophy.

#mental illness #MentalWellness #vulnerabilities #self-care #poetry

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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“As early as the 1920s, researchers giving IQ tests to non-Westerners realized that any test of intelligence is strongly, if subtly, imbued with cultural biases… Samoans, when given a test requiring them to trace a route form point A to point B, often chose not the most direct route (the “correct” answer), but rather the most aesthetically pleasing one. Australian aborigines find it difficult to understand why a friend would ask them to solve a difficult puzzle and not help them with it. Indeed, the assumption that one must provide answers alone, without assistance from those who are older and wiser, is a statement about the culture-bound view of intelligence. Certainly the smartest thing to do, when face with a difficult problem, is to seek the advice of more experienced relatives and friends!”

— Jonathan Marks - Anthropology and the Bell Curve (via leofarto)

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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current desk situation

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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Exchanging heaven for earth

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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“the ways you have learned to survive may not be the ways you wish to continue to live“

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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How I feel every time I ask a Chantry Boy™ if he’s taken any vows

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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Can you please reblog if your blog is a safe place for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, asexual, aromantic, pansexual, non binary, demisexual or any other kind of queer or questioning people? Because mine is.

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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I think part of the issue is people assuming that everyone MUST want to move upwards. Like… it’s the next logical step for a person to want to move up the chain: from worker to manager, to district manager, eventually owner.

But I always think of growth like plants.

Aspens grow tall to reach the sun, for sure. But dandelions grow deep, understanding themselves fully so that if some misguided fool tries to uproot them they’d have to try damn hard. And then there’s thyme and other creeping plants, which spread themselves out so much that if you chop a part of it off it roots wherever it can find dirt to root in.

It’s okay not to have lofty dreams. You know what kind of plant you are better than anyone else.

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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This is the oldest piece of music known to humankind. It’s engraved in cuneiform on a tablet from 1400 BC. And it was a hymn to their goddess Nikkal.

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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Ideation

After T.S. Eliot

I roll up the bottoms of my pants

but, as always, I walk a little too far into the water

and my pants get wet anyway.

I didn't even take off my shoes—

maybe when I get home, this outing will look like an accident.

I could say I got caught in the rain.

They'll never know how I ended up there.

Did Ophelia drown on purpose, or did she fall in?

maybe she heard a mermaid's song

and she was misled to believe

she didn't have to wake up with those legs,

breathing that air with those lungs.

Then she probably realized the song wasn't an invitation,

only a greeting, or a question,

I don't know why you're here, but welcome.

Some people like it here, maybe this appeals to you.

If there had been something or someone to latch onto,

Ophelia could have changed her mind—

swimming is an instinct before you overcomplicate it,

the option is always there, as is the opportunity to drown.

I step out of the water, and I rinse the salt out of my clothes and hair,

I place myself in the sun to dry.

I wish someone were here

but I don't want to have to explain myself.

I need more time to prepare a different face.

Any minute they will come home and knock on my door.

I will have enough time to revise

the reality I've just imagined for myself

before they disturb it and I have to digress,

temporarily returning to my kitchen

where I will talk to over a cup of coffee,

and the people I'm with will think of me

as someone who is well-formulated.

I will start measuring every aspect of my life

with every teaspoon of sugar and presume that it's sweet enough

until I begin to imagine being underwater again.

Or this time I'll watch myself rise and dissipate like smoke,

which is the residue of something burning

but itself has nothing to worry about.

#poetry #t.s.eliot #mental illness #mentally tired #mental health #healing

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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This is one of my alma mater’s literary magazines. I have a couple of poems here, but many of my peers are just as talented if not more so. Check it out. <3

#poetry #literary #magazine #lit mag #english #english major

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sarahsadmatcha · 3 years

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Because You Asked How I Was Doing

Here’s another poem for you.

I got four hours of sleep last night

because I would wake up thinking someone was holding me.

This morning I prepared a face just for you.

My eyes are swollen but I put eyeshadow on anyway.

It will be warm today but,

for a while longer,

I will be cold.

My heart is a pond and I skate on thin ice.

I bend and stretch my fingers my fingers

to feel the cracks in my skin separate.

A door opens with a gust of wind

and when I shiver I realize that my body had already stiffened—

it’s probably been that way since I woke up this morning.

When you asked me how I was doing,

I remembered to unclench my jaw.

When I started writing this poem,

I unclenched it again but this time I separated my lips

and for a moment imagined we were kissing.

Don’t be alarmed, I do this with a lot of people.

All affection comes from the same place.

Personally, I don’t care how I’m feeling,

it’s all the same to me.

But since you,

especially you,

asked me how I was doing—

today,

especially today,

I love you.

And I don’t care if this draft is good.

You can have it. You can have as much of me as you want.

Please, ask for more. I give in. Open me up. Mark my words.

Strikes the ones that are unnecessary.

Comment on my use of passive voice.

I don’t often take action

and I could use a reminder.

Tell me if anything is unclear.

I want to be as honest as possible.

#self-care #mentalwellness #mentally tired #mental illness #friendship #intimacy #poetry #creative #art #writer problems

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