Him. He’s just a friend I’ve said since I was very young. He picked me back up when I had fallen and brought me down with I was too high up in the clouds. We talked till late hours and spoke to each other first thing in the morning. He showed me his worlds and realms and I showed him my galaxies and thoughts. I thought we were destined for each other but I guess we were just destined to be friends. That's alright, too, I guess.

I see my dog next to me, whining in a dream

I want to pet him, but I feel nothing

The next morning, it’s just a vision from the past.

I see him next to my bed, standing in the corner

I want to protest, but I am mute

The next morning, it was an uncanny memory.

I feel the bed dip, my covers being pulled off

I cannot turn, I am trapped

The next morning, it was only a fevered dream.

I feel the hot breath on my neck, the sound of laughter on the walls

the pillow is moved, suffocating me

I cannot move, I am paralyzed

The next morning, it is only something I start to fear every night.

#poetry #sleepparalysis

I used to fill holes in my heart with the white stuff dentists use to fill people's teeth. after realizing it would only last six months before I had to get them filled again, you'd think that I'd become smarter and use something stronger and I did. I used concrete but that was too heavy and left a gross taste in my mouth if I filled the hole up too high. That happened a lot. It was chipped away by picks in the hands of people around me, leaving a dusty pile on the ground in a matter of seconds. What could I use that would fix these holes in my heart!? rubber? no, it would just stretch till it breaks. Wood? no, it would just rot from the salty tears trailing onto my chest. lead is too hard to come by and not to mention the environment... I didn't notice, though. through my thinking and questioning, the holes healed themselves. It wasn't until I noticed it didn't hurt to stretch and I didn't have to pull my organs back into my body when I moved that the holes had healed themselves. Wow, that could've a whole lot easier and quicker if I had just let myself heal on its own and on its own time.

It’s hard to say goodbye to the only thing you’ve ever known. it’s even harder to say goodbye when you see them occasionally, walking down the chilly road, all bundled up in memories from the past keeping them secure and safe that you wish you had too. when they say good morning from across your cubicle at work as you sit down at 9 am. Oh look, a short but sweet text from them telling you things about yourself you never thought people would think. curling up in your blanket you think about them. almost reliving when the bed would dip down next to you and warm arms would pull you close almost suffocating you. Waking up to the smell of them seeped into your sheets. It’s hard to say goodbye when you don’t want to and don’t think that you can. It gets easier though. As you wash your sheets the smell wears out, replaced by a new fresh scent. As you learn to bundle up more and hug yourself in the dead of night, letting yourself breathe. Occasionally they’ll leave a text, but you’ll always leave them on read. you’ve moved to a new cubicle in a new office in a new street and you say good morning back but to new people. Its Spring now, you don’t need your heavy coats or scarves you can run free in the sun. yeah hard to say goodbye to someone but after a while, you forget how they felt, and you remember how they fought. Yeah, it was hard to say goodbye to trauma but, the first I did after that was saying hello to happiness.

Write about the unknown? That’s a very difficult thing to ask for. There are too many unknowns for me to count that even if I did count all of them which one would I choose? Which one could I choose? Could it be known how the world around me functions? With its realms and endless tunnels and turns created to distract and dismay its travelers. Is it as beautiful as some say it is? Could it be known the feeling of emotions? Could I ever learn how to love the way your heart loves or mourn the way it mourns? And if I could, Would I choose to? The unknown is too big, too scary, too much of what the essence of the unknown is. I’m scared but I’m intrigued. I’m delighted to learn new things, but I know it might change and facts will become fiction and concrete will become abstract. It’s too difficult to ask for! If I asked a babe what the unknown is, they wouldn’t be able to speak more words than a person on last breath. A person who spent their entire lives for the answer the unknown, only for it to be unknown. Words as beautiful and hideous as they are can only be the answer for one and even then, I can’t give you an answer to a question I can’t comprehend. Here is my answer, a lonely thing of words after a silent but wordy soliloquy. The unknown is not the ground in the forest, the unknown is not the mist above mountains, the unknown is not the silence before the crash, the unknown is not what you think it is. the unknown is everything and nothing at all.