You Don’t Understand I’m Trying Everyday To Just Stay Alive. I’m Not Lazy, I Know I Have Hours

I mourn for all the women that were misunderstood in the past. The women who wanted to live their lives without the restraint of man telling them how they should live. Women who were burned alive for no reason other than they were born the wrong gender. Women who spoke their minds and were persecuted because their beliefs were different.

I will mourn for all the women who live after me. Women in the future will face the same things we have been experiencing for thousands of years. I have never considered myself a ‘feminist’. After years and years though, you’d think that something would change. If it hasn’t changed yet…why would anything ever be any different?

I remember the day I bought two yellow roses.

I went to your grave and placed the roses atop your gravestone. I sat beside you and talked about a few memories we had shared. I cried tears of joy because I knew you weren’t in pain anymore. The tears turned to sadness though. I asked to you please take care of the child I never got to meet. I think I may have said something about heaven. That’s where everyone believed you had went. You said you saw angels a few days before you passed on. I would never speak ill about you, but I think that’s delusional. I truly hope you are somewhere better though, holding hands and teaching my baby to fish. I see you in every cardinal that flies by me.

I’m far too cynical to believe in heaven; I would like to see again someday though.

I believe in magic.

Not like the magic in fairytales, full of dragons and spells.

I believe in the magic of those small moments.

I believe in the magic of a dandelion growing in the crack of asphalt.

The moment between your inhale and my exhale.

Finding a constellation in the sea of millions of stars.

The way your eyes light up like a stormy sky.

The dew on the early morning grass.

Magic is what makes this world go ‘round.

I’m so thankful to be a part of these small magical moments.

platonic signs of devotion

I am hopelessly in love with you, but platonically. I want to hear from you every time something small happens throughout the day. I want to know when you think of me. I want to hold your hand and walk through a field of lavender. I want to hug you so tight, you will feel it for years. I want to cry on your shoulder and you wipe my tears away laughing that I could have drown you. I want to draw you so I can remember the curve of your cheek and how your eyes try to hide when you smile. i want to let you know that I have fallen in love with myself, because you have shown me that it is perfectly acceptable to be broken and still amazing. We are only humans in this impossibly large universe together and I will be thankful every hour of having met you.

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I don't want to die today.

I'm usually contemplating my life, or lack of, through these hours.

Living is difficult most days.

Then you happened along, and reminded me there are still things to live for.

Your positivity is contagious.

I have a new disorder within me now, that illuminates the darkest parts of my mind.

The sunrise is beautiful again every morning.

Uneasiness that sends moths down my throat, have turned to butterflies.

I adore you.

I need to see the universe through your eyes, just once.

So I will have something to hold onto when the moon is high at night, and the darkness attempts to seduce me.

I whisper my secrets out into the universe.

The stars twinkle with laughter.

They share my joy and watch while this new adventure begins.

I will always apologize for my existence.

To be alive is in this world, in this humanness, is quite exhausting.

I am convinced I am wrong to be here as this; this living being, this whole person who has thoughts that can be spoken aloud.

I was meant to be something living, but quiet.

Something that has a voice, but no words that can be spoken.

I suppose, like a breeze that just whispers past.

A breath of wind that is craved on a warm day, but dreary in the winter.

I am meant to be a part of this world but not like this.

I think you knew what you were doing this whole time. I hope I don’t get hurt in the end.

I despise myself. The way I live, or rather a state of surviving until the next sunrise. I despise the way I let others speak to me. The way I choose to live. I have no will to change it though. I will disassociate my days away.

When I have no ideas for putting together the thoughts that need to read aloud by others, I like to pretend that it is not my time yet for my words, thoughts, feelings to be put out in the world. Please, give me a sign when it is my time to emerge from my subconscious once again. These thoughts are slowly drowning me and must be set free.