What is Safety

I'm so anxious I can't

tell if I'm choking on 

the story in my head

or if my stomach has

decided to pass 

along its nausea to 

my heart.

chronic anxiety.

episodic depression.

these words are 
meaningless to me.
they're emptier than 
the drugs I take for
relief, stretch longer 
than the distance 
between people's 
words and their
actions, spin faster
than narcissists retell 
their stories to suit
themselves.

to have future vision
is to be mentally 
unwell, is to name the
beast before we may 
be ready to face it, is
to be in such 
proximity to silence
you practice the art
of not assigning
meaning or hope, 
alike. 

I'm so anxious I can't
tell the difference 
between a blessing 
and a curse, because
either violate my
consent in a world
filled with sharp
edges that cross my
soft boundaries while
demanding unending
vulnerability.

Space

sometimes I just don't
know how much I can hold and 
would like to be held

Ignorance

Sometimes, sometimes,

I daydream about not 

being awake at all.

Know Justice, Know Peace

I am my childhood's

wildest dreams and my elder's

favorite story.

Reclamations From Anxiety

With no sense of time, 

I woke up today and for

that I am grateful.

Anxiety

Before you leap into me,
let me share 
my internal stillness crushed 
under an exoskeleton, 
soft underbelly no longer
exposed to predators, 
hidden from even myself.

How Are You Feeling

depression is also feeling
"ok" being a huge win, 
a relief from the fog. 

it's your thoughts parting
for long enough to see a 

glimpse of the sun, to recall 

how you wear heat on your 

skin even if you're still kneading 

the chill out of your bones.

These Thoughts Can't Be Trusted

I lie still and my

mind races and zooms and and ~

I just want to rest.

Love

I want to trust you 

with my joy 

not be forced

to draw strength from 

my vulnerability.

Blue

it comes and goes in waves
no promises made, condolences offered 
from crystal clear skies to a fog
so thick you think you can taste it

Courage as a Service

they told me to 
become harder,
so I remained soft. 

they wanted me to
remain quiet, 
so I amplified my voice. 

they stared at
my curves, 
so I covered them in edges. 

they asked me to
sit still, look pretty, 
so I boarded a rocket ship.

Vulnerability

I'm not so interested 
in quick wit
as I am in being fleet footed
I skate on thin emotional ice
warm words and warmer embraces
melting the very walls
scars worked so hard to build
they posit each snowflake is unique
and I reckon they're not wrong

Inflicted pain knows many names
and words continue to hurt me.

Scientific Inquiries

if blue is the warmest color
then why did the depths 
of my depression feel
like shards of ice

Growth

I used to search for

roots, to be rooted, 

but I liken myself to an airplant now 

Unlearn

Leaking emotional energy, 
my internal stillness crushed 
under an exoskeleton, 
soft underbelly no longer
exposed to predators, 
hidden from even myself.

When it all started eroding,
I still had to be there for others. 
The weight of it cause a mudslide, 
everything became murky. 
Relationships crumbled and people
who leaned on me too heavily 
lost their sure footing. 

But time passes more slowly for me, 
I'm tending to my own wounds. 
Reclaiming the earth and the sun,
the flowers as they once were,
sharing this gift with others again. 

As I traveled around the world, 
I cried, I was scared of loss and 
distance and change and 
wandering until my feet bleed.
But I'm not built for the fashion 
of that coat designed by 
someone else, layered on me 
without my own consent. 
It does not suit me, is not mine 
to wear or to gift to anyone else. 
I'm stripping it of its parts, thanking 
it for how it sought to protect me, 
opting to cremate the rest.

Security, Survival

I'll build roots within

for I am the surest thing

I can ever know.

Anxiety, Defined

A two sided mask
behind veils of "I'm sorry."
Joy, pain, all the same. 

Flora

We carve love into the world
as if it's anything other than 
our own responsibility.
Planting expectations in 
the stories we tell of

"How we met"
And
"How we know"
And 
my guilty pleasure
"We're relieved we can stop now."

But for a seedling to take root
to thrive to grow to bloom
it requires:

- 2 parts Context and Timing
- a dash of sunshine
- relentless intention. 

Somewhere along the way
I inherited their fear, 
for choice, the action 
~ to choose ~
care, vulnerability, investment
became burdensome. 
became another monster
peering out from dark, rich earth. 

They whisper, 
"Was the giving tree 
not courageous?
Did she not end
as she was just beginning?"

Her isolation and
her love's confusion and
her intensity and
her love's fear 
when she was gone... 


Why do we pretend
as if love is anything more
than a series of zero sum
comprises, sacrifices.

Luna

I once dreamt of being
as warm as the Sun,
a life granting star. 

Daughter of
Light
and
Energy

my roots would be embedded
alongside earthworms and
the kind of family you find in sitcoms. 

I tried, really, I tried
but the Sun and I
we burn out,
love escaping us like an
intoxicating gas
pushing time forward
setting the world aglow
drowning in our infinite 
desires to fill voids. 

How could you say no
to the face of a sunflower
or the face of a child
or the face of our fears
death, the ultimate nightfall?

When I woke to the world
a sprawling mess of chaos
with no rhyme or reason
to be offered. 
When I realized that
sometimes shit just happens
and it's glorious and horrific, 
terrible and fanciful. 
When I learned I could not be
as endless as cotton candy sunrises. 

I
laid my head
down to rest. 

When I rose the world was new. 
Strange. 
Something shifted within and without. 
I searched for my role model
and instead point. 
"Look at the Moon, is she not inspiring tonight?"

And just like she
waxes
and
wanes
I find myself teasing those around me. 

I was once told I reserve 
pieces of my humanity, 
that those gifts, when bestowed,
can be heavy, 

How was it phrased... 
Ah yes,
"The Stars can be found in the pieces
you reserve for yourself;
They're missing from the velvet blanket
you coat the world in."

I casted constellations. 
Dippers, big and small. 
Began wearing the weight
of Orion's belt, 
howled a lonely, lovely cry for Lupus. 
Ironically, not all light is created equal. 
Sometimes the truest norths are shrouded
by man-made pollutants.

And just like she
waxes
and wanes
so do I. 

I phase in and out of loving 
loving me, loving you, loving
the space in between stillness
and the fear of not becoming enough. 

I find solace in her rootless journey 
from neither here nor there
but ever present, ever centered
ever the same and hidden
and most valuable to those 
who choose her. 

The light she casts provides
context to shadows and 
romance to simplicity. 
The energy emitted is understated, 
wrapped in the skies finest pearls. 

How ironic is it that when we
bask in her glow we dream of 
elsewhere, nowhere, where
our hopes marry our insecurities?

I dream of yellows and oranges
but I woke to silver and midnight. 
The gentle caress of moonbeams, 
and humbling vastness of the Milky Way. 

For what is life but 
a series of perspectives?

What do you mean by that.

deep down I'm a very old tree

          still and reserved

          a silent historian

          stardust in my bones

my roots searching for nutrients

in spite of where I was planted