Awake

I want things again.
Plural.
And I really want them, I care about them, I have enough energy to try and get them.
So this is about all the things I want, to remind me if I ever forget again.

I want to dye my hair hot pink

I want to appreciate people and personalities



I want to finish the HSC and do well, not because I need to but so I can be proud of myself

I want to kiss someone who I actually care about

and when I do I don't want to be numbed

I want to act

I want to read

I want to write

I want to travel

I want to meet people

I want to experience

I want to fight for who and what I believe in

even if that means breaking the rules sometimes

I really want to remember the inherent goodness of humanity

even if it's hard to see sometimes

And honestly, part of me

wants to go back

but not for a bit

And until then, I want to remind others about what I so easily forgot

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Thank you for everything

You all helped me a lot.

thought

i hate lying
i swear i do
but now it seems they are all that is holding my world together
by holding my two worlds apart

knowing

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I get it.
That in the quiet moments, you can't ignore it.
When you are in the shower with it's too-warm water pounding on your face
And water droplets gathering like granules on your back.
When you are walking to the bus-stop, your hands fiddling with a shirt-button.
When you are at a party and for a moment your thoughts stop.

I get it. That in the quiet moments,
You can't ignore how unhappy you are.

then

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In my younger years I used to say hello a lot.
I would write it repeatedly on a piece of paper,
Speak it quietly when lying in bed at night,
Scream it when I was at an empty beach.
I wasn't waiting for someone to reply or
for someone to hear me
though sometimes I suppose I was.
It was more that I was revelling in the pointless beauty of the word.
It's complete lack of meaning.
I was proving to myself that although
we place so much importance in communication
it is so empty, it so empty.

your story

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Watery sunlight leaks through your curtains, your eyelids.

It will become apparent to you, maybe wake you.
Gradually and then suddenly.
You will tug at your limbs, that lie dead against the thin, the white sheets.

It will be easier to give up.
To lie in half darkness, to let it wrap you up in it's consuming warmth. To let it smother you. To stay there all day, longer.
And so you will. You will lie and sleep and doze in a murky haze of reality.
You will lose track of time.
Family, then friends will worry. And -even though none of them are bright enough, and those that are will be too bright, too artificial- they will want you to wake up. But no, all the while you will drag your heavy curtians shut tighter.

You will choose darkness. Because there is a kind of comfort. A familiarity in it.

You will choose darkness. Because for as long as you can remember, that's how you knew it would be.

You will choose darkness. Because that's how the story goes.

Failure

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Oh that is so sad

So Sad
that after everything you are still making an effort

it just gives me another reason not to
not only are you really intense and a bit too nice and wrong just for me
you are masochistic
and that is dangerous in anyone.

i hate it that i have to make problems up

crazy

Last night I had a dream.

I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.



Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.


In each scene I notic

I dreamt I was talking to people, but they weren't making any sense.

I was walking through a courtyard and I would keep speaking to people-my friends, they spoke english but it was worded so strangely that I didn't know what they meant.

At first I thought they might have a thought disorder, but as more and more people didn't make sense I realised I must have the thought disorder, I was the crazy one.

And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

hold on

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when i am 30
i will live alone, in a house in the country
and when i stand outside and look around my house, i will not see a trace of civilization except mine
and at night the stars will sing to me.

i will live there for 3 months, or a year or unto death
and i will cook and read and write
and retreat
from the world
into myself

i will not have a family
because even then i wont be that selfish
instead i will have me
and my thoughts
and they will occupy me and my time

instead

i will have a room with nothing in it
but metal and wood and sand
and when i need to
i will go into the room and throw paint at the walls and at myself
i will throw the wood at the walls and the metal at the wood
i will run my fingers through the sand then my hair
and i will finally physicalize feelings

sometimes when im lonely i will speak to myself
or my fire or sink
because they will listen and so will i
i will sit on my roof and scream and scream and scream
and dance
and noone will hear me and noone will care
and i won't feel trapped
or lonely or in danger or targeted
ill feel like myself
ill feel free

and until then, that -that promise- will be enough

grip

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I thought that afterwards, it would feel different
lighter, somehow.
Like this great weight had been lifted off my shoulders and now
i could almost float away with this release.

Instead, my footfalls were heavier.
In a way, it was better;
no longer did i struggle to hold myself together.
There was suddenly, this stability, a solidity that was not there before
and i felt for once that i did not need to continually reel myself together, slowly winding my thoughts back up and neatly tucking them away into the recesses of my internal body.