sinning tasted like peaches

the ones i knew better than to touch

and now everything that seemed to matter,

is dissolving into nothing-dust.

animalistic desire

i choke on my own lust

warmth of pleasure prepares me for hellfire,

beautiful lies I was stupid enough to trust

because absolution is a mirage,

a funny puzzle on which my mind fixates

I am no more whole now than I ever was

but I’ve hardened, from emerald to jade

I feel more like a woman than I ever have

disenchantment provides me with clarity

I realize that what I really am is ashamed

Ashamed and afraid

of what I’ve been, what I’ve done

of who I am

of who I’m not

of the time I’ve wasted,

chasing dreams and playing with fire

of always prioritizing my ridiculous sentiments and fleeting desires

And I hope, with all my heart, that I’ll be able to change

that I’ll make myself proud and be happy someday

that I’ll like who I am and not look elsewhere for validation

that I’ll be at peace and finally see clearly,

that the kindness and pure intentions of those that matter will one day be more than enough for me.


Onward, and to the Stars

As I embrace the idea of looking to the future, and of making sense of what is to come, I find myself less anxious than I might’ve previously. Lack of anxiety, of course, may not necessarily mean lack of fear itself, but I do believe I am more at ease. And for that, I am grateful. I don’t know where this newfound peace is coming from, and how to hone it holistically and optimize in the way that I probably should. I suspect optimism for the future is stemming from an exhaustion with my preceding obsession with the past, or perhaps, just a clear understanding of the need to release it.

Regardless, after a long time, I am thinking about tomorrow. I am thinking about the weeks to come, about what will become of everything. I am more conscious of my relationships with people, and will attempt to be more charismatic and attentive in the way I interact with them (I think, now, that they deserve this, and that I have been wrong to remain distant and cold for the sake of my own convenience). I don’t know whether I can become less selfish, for while in theory it seems to be a brilliantly simple and becoming manner of living, I find it difficult to practice the art of denying my own desires. Still, I’ll try to work on that. Hedonism, in all of the luxuries it provides, is not something I’m sure I want my legacy (should there be one) to be associated with.

There is a lot I want to do with whatever time I may have left. I know how irritatingly cliché that sounds, and I know how many people who’ve made the very same claim have done little with their actions to support it. Even still, I felt the need to say it, because I feel it, and at this point in my life I am finding that feeling something is often the most apt and apparent cue we ever get to say it; I may be wrong. I feel I’ve wasted an insurmountable amount of valuable time. And I don’t mean to say this to evoke a feeling of regret or depression, but of ambition and determination, to make sure I don’t continue to mistake the time I am given as some sort of prison sentence. Time was not the shackle, my perspective was; time is a privilege, one I had been ignorantly wasting.

I hope that this final push into utter adulthood, turning twenty, means I will begin to transform (as I would very much like to) from a girl of thought and grotesque obsession, into a woman of action and eloquence. I want to think less, and do more. I want to plan less, and see more. I want to be absolutely present in every moment granted to me. The time, as I now know, is now.

I have found that the secret of letting go of my obsession with the past, of allowing myself to come face to face with the idea of fashioning my future in cognizance of its significance to me, was to understand that the future is not some distant, intangible phenomenon, it is now. Someday is here, and it is time to make of it what I will.    

Cultivation of Pain

Newfound radiance, I’m learning to feel again

New set of eyes, I think I can see again

Though lost still we remain

Something slowly emerges from the ashes 


And hope rises 

So too do we 

 Up and up, higher 

We are elated, for the moment

Let’s enjoy this 

He is there 

I am here 

We remain seperate 

Let’s learn to make our peace with that

Peace we used to know

Peace we are learning to cultivate once again

From the pain 


Let us cultivate hope and peace from the pain we didn’t know what to do with yesterday 

Let us give it purpose 

Gifts from the Ghost of Happiness Past 

You know those happy dreams?

The ones that make you sad?

Because you didn’t appreciate the people in them 

And now you can’t 

The happy thoughts and moments 

That break your heart

Because you didn’t soak them in 

And now you can’t 

Don’t you wanna hold her hand 

Now that you can’t 

And stare into those somber eyes, searching for secrets, until you can’t remember who you are anymore 

Don’t you wanna breathe in that compassion

That passion 

That honesty 

Where did the time go?

Is it slipping still?

How often do we make these memories

That never quite perish from our subconscious 

That linger somewhere in our mind 

Lulling our anxieties

For all of eternity

I’d like to tell you that I miss you 

That there are some things that I think I forgot to say

But the raindrops on my window are telling me that you heard them anyway

Metaphorical Lemonade🍋 

I find it is much easier to fantasize about living and doing and being than it is to wake up in the morning and be ready to take on the grueling challenges you must face everyday. I have always found comfort and reluctance to be more calming than the idea of bravery or adventure. And what does it mean…to “seize the day”? What does it mean to make “lemonade” out of these metaphorical lemons everybody always seems to be talking about?

Who’s to say what the best possible outcome of a situation is? Aren’t there many sorts of flavors of lemonade out there in this expansive universe, who’s to say which is the ultimate lemonade? Is the outcome of a situation, the quality of our lemonade, gauged by happiness? Whose happiness would that be?

I find myself grappling with this idea as of late– of what ultimately decides the quality of a situation and how this is gauged. I wonder how much human error is accounted for when we decide ways in which to make such decisions (which must more often than not be inaccurate and unreliable).

At the end of the day, I suppose the only opinion that matters is one’s own. Because, what is the significance of what the next person thinks about your lemonade? They have the opportunity to make their own! They have different circumstances, more lemons maybe, less sugar, no water perhaps, just milk? What has that got to do with your recipe? Whether you make your own beverage bitterly sour, or irritatingly sweet, add in onions or pixie dust,

Ultimately, while it may be nice if others appreciate the craftsmanship of your unique beverage, it is you that must most often bear it’s taste. So analyze the ingredients you’ve been dealt carefully, and brew up something in whatever fashion tickles your personal fancy. Perhaps in such a world, where everyone makes the most of the ingredients they possess and focus on making their own drinks before heading into someone else’s kitchen to sample and criticize theirs, we can live in a happy world,

A world where everyone can be proud of the the drink they’ve created with their own hard work and resilience, and enjoy it all the more in admiration of their honest effort.