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?

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. 

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?

10/12/19

10/19/19