#yoiluwrites
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I got high and had an art night at my house, my creations
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Not to be too annoying and vulnerable but I’ve been feeling really lonely and kind of like a failure lately. I’m working through it, but I kind of struggle to articulate this to be honest in person so I’m trying to release it here. I try to stay busy and I make sure to look a certain way, it may seem to be vanity, I’m just expressing myself in a way I don’t get to because I feel so lonely and have struggled to let people in.
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11/11/21-
I sat down with my pen today
Wondering if there was anything to say,
But there’s nothing inside it for me
I sat down with my heart and my brain,
A bloody pump and an uncorked drain,
Only to feel the emptiness of me
I sat down with my past, looking out,
Hoping on the horizon was my dreams
Forgetting I never had dreams for me.
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Where are We Going?
Where are you going girl,
When you finally break the bough?
Are you ready to fight girl,
Fight your way out?
Where is home baby,
When the closet is gone?
Who will be there,
Hold on despite the thorns?
Where are you with it,
That internal fight?
Can you answer the dark
With your light?
Where are you going baby?
Where are we going baby?
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Is She Real?
When they are all gone,
Who is she?
Who does she become?
When there is no one to perform for
Does she just twiddle her thumbs?
Is she witty?
Does she smile?
Or wear heels?
Is her dress as tight,
Voice as soft when she’s not making appeals?
Does she like it?
Does it matter?
And if it does,
And she does,
Is it wrong?
Should she hide it?
Fight it?
Does it mean she’s wrong?
Is she a caricature?
A mime?
A traitor?
And because her being is from her mind,
Not the world’s,
Is she real?
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She's Ok- I Guess
Sometimes she's ok- I guess,
Like when someone needs a talk,
When someone needs direction,
Or a 3am shoulder.
She's ok- I guess,
She's ok- I guess,
When she feels needed,
When she can serve,
Or entertain.
She's ok- I guess,
When she leads,
When she commands,
Or is given autonomy.
When the light hits her just right,
When all is working right,
And, I guess, when she doubts herself.
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Does She Belong?
She wakes at 10:30 only to pee.
Do I go tomorrow?
She sends a week late email.
Why shouldn’t I go?
She lays back, eyes on the ceiling.
Do I want to be missed?
She closed her eyes tight.
Maybe I want to be idolized.
It’s hard for her to tell.
Am I asking them for too much? Probably.
But no more than she asked of herself.
Do I even belong?
But if she doesn't go
Will they care?
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She's Dramatic
She rode each wave with swinging arms and loud voice.
Her wins were mounted on her wall and losses on her sleeve
But each greeted everyone.
She performed it all.
High arms as her head lifted up to the sky
Then immediately helped take it down,
Gliding the worlds knives to her soft spots
Grabbing arrows that fell short and jabbing them in her heart.
Then she drooped her arms and moaned
Sulked and sulked and sulked.
Till finally something came and lifted her up
And bright eyes she rides till she falls of the hill
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She's Lost
What is the look of a girl lost,
Gone to all that will never miss her,
Is it a frown?
Is it a scowl?
Are there tears?
Well mostly she standing on her tippy toes
While writing verses in perfect latin.
She’s belting notes of Mariah
While twirling dishes on chopsticks.
She’s baking chocolate chip cookies
And knitting sweaters in your favorite color
While hugging you gently in cold weather.
Really she’s trying but slipping fast
Gone before you can pay her back
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I plan on writing everyday this month tho I missed the first, im going to use my tag #yoiluwrites
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She is Written
She is written out
A side story in her autobiography
With her throwaway smiles and whispers
She lets herself go
Writing her name in empty bottles
And her lover’s in overflowing glasses
She writes herself with lame letters
Calls herself tacky and weak
Casting her body to be the friend, sisters or mother
Unless someone is kind enough to see her as a lover
Giving anyone she interacts with the lead
Putting them before her pulse
Her character is written frail
Too small to be the fighter she dreams of
And too winded to sing her story
But she can hum in the background
Maybe that is why she placed herself there
And how she forgot the soul that lives in her
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