pain is only breath

eclectic electromagnetic
brainstorms swish into
motion every morning
into momentum
been programmed
to function at overcapacity
what do you mean
I need to stop
be unproductive not contribute
can’t not work what do you mean
I can’t breathe
I can’t breathe I can’t I need to be
alone in my room hold it in for
five-four-three-two-one
hold it inside for two and out
five-four-three-two-one
ever since I flew and
life got ripped from my hands
what I thought was control
on the surface, trying to remain
in tact, smiling in conversation
I function I’m ok,
this whole back and forth, expected
to show up
smiles and transactions
mentally breaking
psychologically drifting
into caffeine into
friends looking out for you
broken bird
pounce
wing flicking out
bone shard
sliding beneath skin
cracking, popping bone inside
like a broken piano key, part of me
to have for always
unless they cut me
my choice
dig into this
brokenness
put my heart, soul under
microscope, let’s see
how much I hurt
let’s see, how much
I can handle before I
sign out
how little I can go on before
I lose it completely
grasp on reality
ripping hospital bands
off of my wrist
goddamnit
don’t want another surgery
resist! resist! it’s a lesson!
must embrace it! flower child!
bullshit.
in denial, tripping
into this ether of unemployed nihilism
opinions torn
don’t fucking know anymore
been trying
anything
work, don’t work
work, work harder
break
make everyone happy
believe in yourself
harder
mantra: I am so much more
than scooping mac and cheese
I believe!
cracking open my body
a small stepping stone
to find stillness
forced to write
nothing left
but to put mind down
in words
forced to stop in a world
that does not
no more ignoring
the dull, inside ache
always wondered
what chronic felt like
whether I’d be able to handle it
if I’d need to take pills
it’s small
large, then small once again
like holding the breath
for two and then exhaling out
once again

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paradigm

used to pray

rosary beads

spider gods 

extraterrestrial

jiggly elephants

dark, gapingness 

wide-eyed

waiting for nothing

mandalas

the magical mystery bus 

the centre of 

meaningless 

but when moonlight

creeps down the staircase 

there’s beauty again

when flowers bloom

feeling sunlight, music

good sex

I believe if I shed 

it all, my skin 

white, shiny wet 

bones and pumping heart 

beauty is quick 

passing moments 

shifts in perspective 

beneath frail words

tapered lifestyles on screens

sculpted thoughts 

just wanna pop that 

juicy blackberry 

in my mouth 

and forget 

let go of it

a spiralling world 

of beliefs, pretty things

hold on to the 

shiny gold tassel of good

the kind ones 

soft hearts 

acceptance

we are okay

just the way we are 

without filter 

Paper Doll

I’m looking for my paper doll. The one that I’d put super hero capes on. I’ve had it forever. Tucked away in a little box somewhere. Where the fuck is she? I used to draw these Wonder Woman outfits, sometimes she’d be an Amazonian goddess.

It really was the coolest thing.

I can’t find her anywhere. My little paper doll. The one that used to be so strong for me. These little outfits that I’ve drawn. They’re not big enough for me.

I drove this puttering, white convertible in my dream. She wasn’t a doll. But she was paper. Flip flapping when I looked into the mirror. I had this crinkly face, but not like wrinkles, I wasn’t old. I was her. I was paper.

I’d park the car and open the trunk. All the outfits that I’d dream up as a kid, they were real and I could put them on.

It was in the middle of the desert. There was this spinning contraption, this hobby-horse of sorts. It had these streamlining, spinning whirls of colour. It was this levitating sort of alive box. I was headed straight for it in the middle of nowhere. Like it contained all the answers.

But that image kept distracting me. My face as paper. I guess the more I focused on it, the more this world would shatter. The corners of reality coming undone. I stopped trying to get there. I couldn’t control it anymore.

I pulled over and starting tearing at this paper all around me. The skies, the distant contraption, whatever the hell that thing was. It all came undone. Then I started tearing at me. Pulling and ripping apart the very fabric of my being.

It was just this whiteness. This blank. Nothing.
The peace of it.

I found the doll. She always looks so different than how you remembered her.

I’ll rip her up into a million little pieces and let the quails eat me.
What happens when I don’t have the totem anymore.

When I am her?