there must be a fliter
somewhere out there
for me to filter out these:

neon lights that blind me
miles and miles of racing thoughts
wailing sirens from just beyond my window
thumping bass next door
my bed’s siren songs
the notifications that won’t stop
videos that autoplay in the background
papers that have words falling off the page

just everything.
please shut up

(or maybe i should gain some
self control)

the spider’s thread,
which dangles from a tiny
hole at the top of this pit
in which darkness seems so
everlasting,
tempts so quietly
so patiently.

a thin gossamer strand
that could be the answer
and a solution to
the depths in which there is nothing
much to do besides
fall even further.

how easy it is to
reach up and just
climb until the top

(this is not the first time
i’ve seen this thread,
and it will not be the first time
i climb until the top
only to watch it fall apart
in my hands)

these numbers do not
define the way you
exist as an individual,
but be as that may,
i still feel tied to these
digits as if my worth
is defined by impassive pixels
on a screen and on a
display.

to think and feel
based on these superficial rankings
seems so foolish,
but then that would mean that
i must be a damn fool then

(once again,
it’s quite hypocritical
and ironic,
is it not)

i’ll wipe at glasses
trying to clear my vision
from the outside,
superficially and like clockwork,
it must just be dust and grime
from the going-ons and
steady routine of my days.

everything stays blurry,
stays warpped and confusing
misconstrued by a perspective that
i’m forced to stay within,
boundaries of my own nature
unwilling and unyielding.

this existence is something that
i can only confirm with
absolute certainty in my eyes,
but being all-knowing,
all-seeing,
is impossible to fathom
and to see with my
own eyes

(i think it would be scary
to understand the entirety of
the universe)

pieces of a magazine cut out on the floor,
littered ticket stubs and
scrawled writing in the margins
of what should have been notes
but instead just another
brain dump for a long class.
half finished drawings
and sketches of ideas that were
never really meant to come to pass.
the stray certificate
that didn’t really belong
in this place or that.
notes from a bygone era,
and cards that weren’t exactly
kept to be sentimental but as
a thank you for their words.
half completed journals carry fragments
of a person that once existed,
even as that person is beginning to
throw out the clutter of the past

(it feels as though i’m raking the leaves
to make way for new growth.
there’s an itching under my skin
that always yearns to start fresh
once again)

the world is spinning
so very fast
but i am always one step behind,
tripping on my feet,
stumbling on the cracks
and blindy reaching to to
grab anything that can
keep me steady for more that
just a couple seconds.

(is it too late for me to catch up,
or am i too slow
as everything seems to progress
faster than i can
process)

there aren’t many
stars out right now,
but when I think of how
vast this black umbrella
truly is,
there must be stars pouring
through, and a shower of
light is just beyond
our reach

(the stars streak down like
rain drops down a car window,
and i can’t help but trace them
with a finger)

i want to be the kind of person
who can scream what
they’re feeling without
the noose around their neck
and the tightening of their throat
with the too loud drum of
a heart that cannot help but
beat in time with the fear.

i want to be the kind of person
who can step into anything,
dive headfirst
trusting that
the ground will not crush me
to break my fall.

i want to be the kind of person
who can tell you
i love you
so unapolgetically
that you feel my words with
every fibre of your being.

(i want to be the kind of person
you can love back)

she yells over the sound
of the ocean waves crashing
against the weathered shore
as if to ask for attention from
Apollo unflinching from above
or Poseidon and his army from
the depths of the blue.

perhaps she is calling out for
Artemis’ protection
or Athena’s knowledge to guide
her to an answer to the question
that has plagued her too long.

a war cry of sorts
to Ares
or a bold declaration of love
for Aphrodite.

the pavillion of gods look down
upon the frail human child

(but still, she is all
alone)

everything feels like a
raw wound, and every
emotion is heightened
behind a cloud that
i can barely see my hand through,
but even so,
with all this chaos
in my chest,
it feels like its
chafing at my soul.

(emotions are an
open injury
with no bandaid as
the easy solution)