best feelings

i think the best feeling is when you make someone that you like a lot laugh and their face lights up and they start giggling and you’re really happy that you were able to make someone so beautiful smile so much

Queerness

I have never been able to understand people with consistent lives – people who, for example, grow up in a Catholic household and stay that way; or who in secondary school are already laying down a record on which to run for president one day. Imagine having no discarded personalities, no vestigial selves, no visible ruptures with yourself, no gulf of self-forgetfulness, nothing that requires explanation, no alien version of yourself that requires humour and accommodation. What kind of life is that?

Beginning Again

I’ve been told I am selfish. I’ve been told I’m empty and cold, noncommittal and restrained; over-ambitious, over-eager, overzealous, next-to-insane. I’ve been told I am broken, I am raw, I am wrong - I’ve been told I deserve to be alone, I don’t deserve to belong.

The truth is all of this is true, and all of it is untrue too.

I know I’m a million faces in a cloud of unease, trying to arrange into a person who feels worthy of being.

The truth is I have a messy heart; I love everything I’ve ever touched… which means for me, my heart has opened as many times as it’s bleed.
My heart has been closed in as many times as it’s freed.
My heart has chosen as many times as it’s cheat… 

My heart has broken
as many times
as it’s beat.

The truth is my truth is unruly. The truth is my hands have been unclean. The truth is I’ve become this person on purpose, by accident, by maintaining that the truth is I am ugly; by maintaining that the truth is who I am, should not be.

The truth is I’ve been steel-wool-and-lye scrubbing these open wounds of mine, hoping they’d come off like all the rot I’d been told I was; like parasites robbed of air, I thought they’d burrow to the surface and be gone, so I rubbed all my skin off in vain.

The truth is I thought I was alright.
The truth is I was completely blind.
The truth is I’ve run from who I’ve been for so long I’ve distorted who I can become. I’ve been numb to my tenderness; in my dark I’ve been alone. I let myself believe I was a curable disease, and went about making sure no one could see this sickness. I swallowed myself to appear whole.

I’ve been told I am selfish. I’ve been told I’m desperate and indifferent; unwilling and unwhole. I’ve been told these scars are proof of my weakness, that this world finds greatness in pain that is unspeaking. I’ve been told that being quiet is the way it goes.

Silence has weakened my vocal cords.
I’ve grown timid in my downturn, given up my podium to blend in. I’ve stopped writing. I’ve stopped moving.
I let it all go.

This is the place I’m coming from.
I’m beginning again.

Hallucinating Foucault

Well – there are two kinds of loneliness, aren’t there? There’s the loneliness of absolute solitude – the physical fact of living alone, working alone….This need not be painful. But there is another kind of loneliness which is terrible to endure….And that is the loneliness of seeing a different world from that of the people around you. Their lives remain remote from yours. You can see the gulf and they can’t. You live among them. They walk on earth. You walk on glass. They reassure themselves with conformity, with carefully constructed resemblances. You are masked, aware of your absolute difference.

Confessions of A Writer

Sometimes, sometimes when I find…
That my voice is so tiny, so especially paltry.
I can’t help but think how reality seems so bleak.

It seems like nothing,
Not even a spark of
Brilliance or imagination,
Could light the world.

It just seems so hopeless when every day,
We walk past one another, so much distance,
And oblivion between us all.

Our cleverness truly feels pointless when
The machines we build to bring us together,
Only pull our hearts so much further apart.

There are times that when I stand on the street,
Rain pitter-pattering everywhere around me,
I feel so empty… and so lost, so dead.

It’s then, that moment when I
Cannot find hope, or sense any vestige of humanity
Or even the faint faint beat of my heart,
That I pick up my favorite pen,
And write until the days have become black,
Write until the rivers run dark with my blood,
Until my body collapses, until…
Until all of my thoughts have run mad.

I do this so that when the words are written in ink,
They’re more than just mere diction,
They are rhythms burned into memory.

It is my purpose to ensure that they are as unforgettable
As a new found star or galaxy and as unforgettable
As the feeling of music beating in your chest.

This is because my words are more than life and imagination.
And because I write these poems for the sake of everything.

They are the stories of human-kind and of my own past.

It is ever so clear to me that
My words are not only my soul,
They are my body, and my inevitably
Fading intelligence.

And with some form of luck,
They will fill our small corner of space,
The expanse of our time on Earth.

So it would be a privilege to share
These small parts of my heart,
As maybe they will find themselves
Tucked in between
The tired lungs of us all.
And maybe they will become some message
That can bring life to this world.

At least I hope so.

It all seems so simple, but why is it so hard.

How do you ask for help when you don’t feel worthy of it?

How do you tell someone you’re hurting when you don’t want to be a bother to them?

How do you let someone in when they shut you out?

How can you try and be noticed when people make you invisible?

How do you win when your opponent cheats?

He creeps up on you and pulls you down.

No warning. No nothing.

Everything seems fine, like you’ve finally gotten the lead then all of a sudden you’re spun out and three laps behind.

How do you cure something when you don’t even know what that something is?

It makes you feel so alone.

Like you’re stranded on a desert island.

When you finally see food, water, people, things that make you happy, it is ripped away from you.

All you want is that helping hand.

Someone to lift you up, give you a hug, a kiss, show they care.

All you want is for them to never go away. But that voice in your head keeps telling you that you are not worthy of them, that you never will be.

You push people away when the thing you want most is to hold them close.

And what hurts the most? No one seems to understand.

If you want something, just ask.

If you need someone, just tell them.

If you love someone, just let them know.

It all seems so simple, and it is.

But why is it so hard.

Hakuna Matata

Hakuna Matata 

It’s means no worries…. Right?

But how can you say that?

He just found out that his dad is dead     and you tell him not to worry?

So why do people say that?

How can you tell a person to “not worry, everything will be alright” when it might not be. 

Your mom is in the hospital and might not make it. 

You were just in a car accident and might not walk again. 

You just lost your job and have no means to support yourself, or family. 

But don’t worry. 

That’s not what people want to hear.

That’s not what people need to hear. 

Why give them that false hope?

“Your mom will be fine, but don’t worry” …. And she dies. 

“You’ll never walk again, but don’t worry”

“You have no money, but don’t worry”

That’s bullshit 

Don’t tell them not to worry, give them that false hope, only to have it ripped away.

Don’t feed them the empty bumper sticker theology. 

Don’t give them meaningless care. 

Give them love. 

Give them hope. 

Show them that they are not alone. 

No. Everything will not be okay.

But that’s okay. 

It’s okay to worry. 

It’s okay to cry. 

It is okay that you are not okay. 

So I don’t buy the famous phrase “don’t worry, be happy”

I don’t buy the empty comfort words “don’t worry” 

Because sometimes you will worry 

Sometimes everything will not be okay. 

But when the clouds part. 

When the sun shines. 

When everything is okay once again. 

That’s when I believe that phrase. 

Don’t worry. 

I’m happy. 

When Friends Become Strangers

It’s funny, I remember the days that we walked the same path and we crossed the same roads,

But today I’m lost, crossed, intertwined as each of our souls,

Have departed and dispersed and the feelings of friendships are immersed,

Within the depths of previous thoughts and feelings we once un-earthered.

Do you remember the days where we could conversate for hours upon end?

But when I saw you today it was as if we were strangers again.

I know you have work to get done and really, so do I

But we’ve lost our connection and now I wonder why?

I’m feeling like there’s a sense of hostility building inside this serenity,

The friendship and bonds we had and have is now the enemy,

My thoughts and my previous tendencies,

Are rendezvousing with a lost entity,

But this friendship is sick and it doesn’t seem as if there’s a remedy.

I meet up with you even though a few years have gone past,

We still chat via text but it just doesn’t last,

See we chat every other week but it just hasn’t got that same buzz,

Remember we used to chat everyday, but it’s gone now, I’m lost and feeling stuck.

Words and verbs, metaphors that I used to use,

Are now not spoken as they’re overly used.

We say the same things but format our vocabulary,

This feeling sucks and I’m losing my sanity.

See we used to have the strongest of bonds that didn’t match anything else,

You might of saw it differently but really that’s how I felt.

I guess the reason we become so distant is because we began to grow up,

That was the fact we parted and the buzz fell into the rough.

You gained new friends and I’m not mad at that,

I’m just glad you’re enjoying life and I can deal with that.

But is it wrong I want my friend back, even though we’ve both changed?

Is it strange that things deep down just aren’t feeling the same?

It’s funny as we walk the same paths where we once laughed,

But all we do now is smile and walk graciously past.

The connection and tether of friendship just broke off and it’s blowing into the wind,

Almost as if that bonds been trashed and it’s thrown in the bin.

As I sit here and the rain stumbles upon my glass frames,

I’m imagining a life without hearing your name.

Is it odd that I speak of you so high and mighty?

Is it odd as friends I want to hold and hug you and feel so tightly?

I’m never going to stop loving you as we once were,

But the fact of the matter is it’s not as it once were.

You’ve got a boyfriend and you’re acting different trying to think that I want to get physical,

Truth is I’m just respecting you, trying re-kindling our friendship why you acting all cynical.

Don’t flirt with me and expect me not to do it back,

I wanted to chill for the day you were the one who introduced that.

I love you for who you are, deep down as a friend,

But if it’s going to be this way I think it might have to put it to an end.

You see me as someone who’s trying to flirt and wants to be something else,

Truth is I’m not, I’m always a friend if all else fails.

I’m always your friend don’t ever forget that,

I’m sorry for the way I acted; I hope you can respect that.

I just want to re-kindle those feelings we once had,

But if you want to call it a day I won’t get mad.

Take two, there is too much blood

Sometimes, I have moments where my mind is reeling with negativity. You see, my depression has a way of making me believe things I know to be false. I scream at myself “That’s not true. Why would you think that?” and even still they become my reality. So I curl up in a ball and hold my head and try to stop the bleeding as my heart continues beating violently, trying to escape the chest that it’s trapped in because the emotions it feels are too strong. There is too much blood.
I take two minutes, and then its clear. I realize it was never blood, just tears. Never truth, just fear. And I can breathe again.
And then I have days when fear becomes truth. I’m scared to leave my room because then I have to try to pretend that those moments never happened. You see, all my depression wants is to be noticed. It strips me of my smile so that people will ask “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” No. Nothing happened and that’s the worst part. My life was fine until one day it wasn’t and now I forget what it feels like to be happy. I can’t be around people. And so I stay in bed and instead think about how much I miss my friends and their company but its out of reach because they don’t talk to me anymore. I am so alone.
I take two hours, and then it comes to me. I am only alone because I chose to be. And so I call my best friend and she makes me laugh, reminds me I am loved. And I can walk out the door. 
But then there are the nights when I really am alone. My best friend doesn’t pick up the phone and I am forced to confront that these problems are my own. You see, my depression is not just a part of me, it is all of me. I tell people “This is not me. This is not the person I am” but that is the biggest lie of all. I am forced to avoid my reflection because I am nothing but my depression filling an empty shell that can’t satisfy its own needs and has no interest to because when it looks in the mirror it only sees the object of its despair. What is wrong with me?
I take two days, and then two months, and then two years and I find the answer. I have an illness that is solely built on flaws I can’t fix. And so I look in the mirror and convince myself the flaws don’t exist. And for a second I can feel beautiful again. 
But even still, everyday I take two pills because you see, my depression is so stubborn it will take two lifetimes to leave. And so I still have those moments, those days and those nights and they have blurred so close together I have no reason left to fight. They are my life. And I’m tired. I can’t clean it up in my own because there is too much blood. 
Because no one understands there is something is wrong with me.
I am so alone. 
And there is too much blood.

Crushes

A crush is a nice thing to have

It makes you feel nice

Loved

Cared about

Thought about

And so on

But when you see a lot of people crushing on each other

And you’re the only one without a crush

It makes you feel sad

But sometimes you might feel happy you don’t have a crush and somebody doesn’t have a crush on you

But deep down inside

Your slowly dying of loneliness

You’re happy because you don’t want to get hurt

But you would actually risk anything to be loved

I know how you feel

I was vulnerable to the heart breaking

And I got it broken

Into tiny pieces

I don’t go for it no more because crushing is just a waste of time

But for people who love “love” thinks it’s everything and will do anything to try and find their soulmate

And when they find that person they live happily ever after

But some don’t

Some die from it

Some suffer depression

I almost did

But I never gave up

I searched and searched

But no luck

So I’m giving up on it

Why bothering keep going when there’s nobody to love you

I just sit here…

On my bed…

And cry myself to sleep…

Knowing… that nobody likes me…

Depression vs. Anxiety

At one moment, your depression is telling you that you don't care what happens. Then the next moment, your anxiety is screaming and clawing at you to do something. Having depression and anxiety is a constant war inside of yourself. Though, there are no winners.