a poem from each month of 2020

13 December, 2020


2020 in poetry.

 

january | 1/29/20

I feel like I am always code switching and
one day I just want to be me all of the time.
I don't watch the news anymore,
I have a hard time moving on.

february | 2/28/20

no one told me about
the blinding white of the rain,
deceitful all the same,
I should have known
I'd feel drenched someday.

march | 3/8/20

A heart is buried in my subconscious
and I'm trying to hear its beats.
trying to make a space for the words
that clearly want to come out but
there are parts of me that I'll never ever reach.

april | 4/12/20

it's been a long time since I felt something in me change.


may | 5/12/20

you don't have to be pretty in your own house
with no one else around. 
you don't have to keep your arms bent
to hold what's left of this town.

june | 6/6/20

I know jealousy like an old friend,
alienating me from my old friends,
keeping a safe distance between
me and everything.

july | 7/2720

I thought you could tell
the way things have changed 
from how I cut my hair.
I'm sorry I haven't really
been here.

august | 8/3/20

gotten used to the days 
dragging by,
nothing but the sun
marks the passage of time.
I couldn't tell you
even if I want to
how this is weighing
on my soul.
 

september | 9/12/20

I am addicted to the sight of a coastline.
I only know calm on a long drive.
I thought the world would change
and my only job was to stay awake
but now I think I spin too fast
to catch.

october | 10/11/20

I want to live on the grass
in between the overpass.
I want to sit up close to the cars
and feel my heart as it falls
and hold all of it in my palms.
 
just because I can feel it 
does not mean that it is real.
just because it is real
does not mean that I can feel it. 
 
november | 11/25/20

let me into your dreams,
I want to change a few things,
rearrange the way you think
of us.

december | 12/11/20

how can you not care?
about the fate of night and day? 
don't you know 
that the earth feels pain?


XOXOXO

lesser known milestones

01 December, 2020


knowing how to dress and which shapes suit you

not having to tell everyone everything, keeping things just for yourself

having a routine that suits you and only you
knowing how to cook your favorite meal
finally being comfortable with being alone
not being afraid to answer phone calls
being able to put your feelings into words

being able to ask for help when you need it
wearing the clothes you want to wear
being able to admit when you're wrong/apologize
having people to talk to

making peace with your body
exercising for your own health, wanting to be healthy
knowing when to stop talking / knowing when to speak up

being unafraid to make conversation and get to know people
being unafraid to dance



XOXOXO

On Crying

25 November, 2020

I cry when watching romantic-comedies. I cry when listening to slow music. I cry on the floor, in bed, in the bathroom. I cry at the doctor's office. I cry at my therapist's office. I cry at the movies. I cry in front of my parents, my teachers, my friends. I cry on my dog. I cry in the morning, in the evening, and at night. I cry more than I care to admit and then I write sad poetry about the tears. I cry when I experience physical pain or experience emotional pain. I cry because I have allergies. I cry because I am sad. I cry because there is some force inside of me that is overwhelmed with emotion from time to time and my body releases those feelings through tears and that is okay. 

I never really understood how people could cry so much as a child and I reserved crying for big, overwhelming events. As someone who is no longer a child I realize that a lot of things in life are big, overwhelming events. I often cry in anticipation of things because the stress of knowing is enough. I know that the things that upset me are never random and the physical reactions I experience are the result of the emotions I bury. Tears for me are always a manifestation of something deeper, a strong connection to what is happening and they are always proof of how much I care, whether I want to admit it or not.

I never want to be emotional in front of people. People earn my trust and after years of breaking down my many, many walls, I deign to show them my emotions and only then might I cry in front of them. Children are taught that crying is something to be embarrassed about and real people do not have a strong emotional attachment to anything. I am slowly learning that crying does not make you weak. Caring does not make you weak.

I always have a hard time explaining why I cry. All it takes is the subtle motion of wiping your eyes for people ask: "what's wrong?" and I never know how to answer. The internet always tells me to be honest and the truth is I just feel a lot of things now. Maybe I don't deal with my emotions in a healthy way although I've tried all of the things they tell you to try: writing, journaling, painting, therapy, breaking things. Some help, some don't. There are more things to try, I guess. 

Sometimes I just look at myself in the mirror and cry because I don't understand what I see. Sometimes I cry when other people are happy. Movie endings make me cry. Speaking up makes me cry. Telling the truth makes me cry. In retrospect, these things are telling. It's weird how your subconscious knows things before you do, sometimes the body just reacts.

It feels like even when other people feel the same things, they are just too far away to count as real. I used to think that knowing other people feel the same is just another way of invalidating my own feelings, making them feel small, but it's really just a reminder that things are not as bad as they seem. The only thing that is comforting is knowing it can get better, you just have to wait a really long time, sometimes. 

A while ago my friend gave me a book with articles from RookieMag.com and looking through it reminded me that we all really have the same experiences. It really doesn't feel that way sometimes, a lot of the time, but a lot more things are relatable that I think they are. And that's the best thing, not being alone.


XOXOXO

keeping secrets

12 November, 2020

I've kept secrets my entire life. Some people say that not telling the truth is the same thing as telling a lie, but I disagree. I think we all have to keep things to ourselves sometimes, it makes them more special that way. Maybe I keep secrets so that I never have to know what other people might think of me. I don't want their opinion on the things that are important but I wonder if it's wrong to hide things sometimes. I wonder if people would want to know.


Lately with all this time I have at home, I've been working on artwork and I am more tempted than ever to share it. Not having to see people in person or experience their reaction is motivating in a way to pursue what I want. I'm used to storing my poems or songs or drawings or writings for the future incase I have the courage or opportunity to show them in a way that is meaningful but now everything is up in the air. The future is so uncertain that I'm tempted to just post on my Instagram for everyone I know to see and then hide my phone so I don't have to deal with the consequences. I'm jealous of other people who are able to put themselves out there so easily.

Sometimes I think that I only make art so I can receive praise and attention from other people. Someone I know posted one of my drawings and it got a lot of really good responses, I didn't know that other people cared about what I did. When I feel really alone I try to think about all of the people who know I exist and try to remind myself they care. They care, I just wish I could speak to them.



The art I've posted online compared to the art that I haven't posted is proof that I don't do any of this for the attention. How can I think I'm vain when I keep everything a secret? When I put on more than a mask and hide more than my face, what does it mean when it feels like no one else really knows who you are? Maybe I'll get that same positive response again and it will mean everything. Maybe I'll put my heart out there because I've kept it inside for years and there will be no response at all, silence. Will the people who I think are cool, think I'm cool? Everything is so strange.

When I look at interviews of artists who I love, I am so thankful they decided to share their work. I am so thankful they had the courage. How can I compare myself to people like that? Am I a narcissist? What? If? I? Fail?  Keeping secrets gets tiring after a while and with time they don't mean as much. I want to show other people the things I care about and use their reaction as proof that they care about me. I want your validation but I don't want to want it. If other people can put themselves out there why can't I? Why can't I?



XOXOXO

poetry from this time last year

22 October, 2020


10/8/19
maybe we'll always want to pack our bags

10/12/19
grey city sky
sees me singing in my car
you don't love the rain, you love
the feeling of being trapped inside

are we obstructing your view?
is it easier to hide behind what you know?

I didn't think it could get any better until it did
we didn't think we could get any better until we did

10/19/19
I am so tired of this year.
I don't think there's anything
out there for me
and I am so afraid.
I'm tired of this place
finding new ways to break me.
It's been years
of plotting my escape.

feeling unwanted, unloved
like if you cared
then push would've come
to shove.

something inside of me
wants to be the light.
I didn't know it was there.
I wasn't ready for a fight.

10/21/19
wish that I could be consciously aware.
wish that the subconscious thoughts
would come up from the underground
and tell me what I needed to hear.

I'm tired of guessing

jokes on me, I thought I could pretend it was over
without actually making a change
ignoring the problem
hoping it wouldn't come back to me one day
but I pretend to know now
you can't pretend the problems away
you have to actually see them go

I am wasting
my time
watching the days pass
me by

10/27/19
I want to pour my heart out to you
but I fear after I will have nothing
left.


XOXOXO

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