in the beginning, there was no god.

in the soundless chambers of time and space

it was born.

small and insignificant;

its face blotchy and fat with flesh—

a sputtering mess  on its own—

eyes glowing bright,

the stars illuminated in response to it,

their dust reflective and vain compared to its eyes.


Their tongue was made of moonshine

and dry with stardust.

They were in but the child of

oblivion, unknown and renowned,



it babbles softly in the fibers of space and time,

the universe crying mercilessly for answer.

Yet the child will only coo,

its heavenly body occupied with more timely affairs.


Today is January 20th, 2017

Today hurt me. Not the main event, with the state of DC at the moment but the small things. The way sleep seemed to pin me down by the neck when I woke up this morning. How there was no gum in my bag to satisfy my addictive tendencies. An ache made home in my head no matter how much water I drank. Most importantly, I couldn’t speak today.

I could feel eyes on me as I walked, my strides long and manly as my dad likes to comment on. I’ve never understood fully what it meant to be confident. Anxiety has settled deeper I my bones by the day and I wondered all day why I couldn’t find it in myself to care today. I was so tired and sometimes when you’re tired you don’t feel like doing anything.

So the day ends, a long but pleasant day all the same. I am tired, too tired to bid a kind word so I sit. I sit on a chair for twenty minutes, my mind slowly exploding. I don’t like staying too long in one part of the school because I do not feel safe in myself. There’s a strange, isolated sense of otherness there and it reminds me of why I feel lonely.

But time passes. Thank god.

I go home with my headache, caring carefully in my skull, letting it run itself through my veins making me dizzy. I rested for an hour, staring into the abyss and feeling my heartbeat, its violent thump striking random beats in my chest. I ate some chocolate to aid my melodrama as the TV came on before deciding to be useful and wash the dishes for half an hour. Of course this wasn’t necessary, since they could’ve been done the night before, but no one here thinks to do that when they’re not busy.

As the minutes move, a feel my beat soften as my heart feels heavier. I am tired again but carry on with the little story I always have in my head. I go to my room and try to work. Nothing. Hence, I draw, a carnation first, then the start of a profile and finally hair before fear strikes my bones again.

Suddenly I’m cleaning, my shoes being thrown in the closet while my other hand searches frantically for hangers, papers thrown in the trash. That shouldn’t be there, I don’t know what this is, and I’m crying now.

I cry because I’m tired. I’m tired and scared and stressed and it’s only been…a week. Two weeks actually, but I could never give myself that much credit. Now I wonder how this happened, how this all changed from the year before, when I had much worse. I wonder why I’m so scared all of a sudden. What am I scared of?

I did the work (and ate some food, but only a little). In fact, it was just done, the only thing accomplished besides this. Yet I’m still so angry, so what was the point?

[this is a narrative autobiography style of writing]

to cry.

I want to cry.

I want to feel the tears run down my cheeks like small rivers.

i want to see through the gaps of my lashes, the small droplet tumble to the ground,

its body engulfed by anything it touches.

I want to feel the walls of my nasal swell with emotions,

translated into snot, because for whatever reason,

crying must not be clean.

I want to be messy, to lay amongst my mess as i cry,

to feel the world’s ploy against me.

i want to feel like i’ll never breathe easy again,

as my palms shake like thin branches,

my breath as shaky as cold wind.

i want to feel the pain in my chest and then suddenly

nothing as it dissipates with each breath,

until i grab more anguish from my breast

and begin the seance again.



lack of interest, enthusiasm, or concern

I wouldn’t say I’m the most apathetic person. I’m a Cancer for starters, whatever that means, but I know I am emotional. But I also feel I ride the extremes a little too much these days, mixing into a mess of instability.

Do you know what it’s like to pour your heart into a single person? It’s an overwhelming feeling, one that starts from my chest and rises like water to release a wave of adoration and love. Of course, teenagers hate that, so it’s never received very well by the public. But I like appreciating people for it makes me feel lucky, blessed even.

Yet there’s another side, different, that drains me and turns me into a basket case of laziness and I hate it. Only mindfulness can control it, which I honestly don’t have the time or energy for so I work around it. But I’ve hit a whole new level of apathy.

It’s very easy to feel apathetic when you can’t really feel yourself. It’s almost like my brain had grown so tired it went to sleep, leaving my body to carry on business as usual. Even now as I write this, my eyes watch my fingers with a sense of detachment. There’s something very similar to a marionette as far as humans go, and I can’t help notice how controlled we all are. I think the day I wake up again is the day it will be too late.

Or worse—not worth it.