I feel like in my life, there’s a wheel with the words “mediocre” and “perfection” written on it. I spin the wheel to see what to strive for with each task, and sometimes it lands on one, thus deciding my work ethic for a particular duty. But for longer tasks, and goals, and strategies, the wheel seems to be forever spinning and the words are blurry and meld into one another, so I just attempt at this foggy mix of both. I am simultaneously okay with doing just alright, and needing to be perfect.
I’ve been having this feeling a lot recently.
Continue reading “a wheel”
A narrative, play(ish), experimental (not really) kind of dialogue scene for you (but mostly me).
“She’s resting.” Stan walks into the living room. I nod. “I’ll give you a list of things to say when she gets like that. She just needs someone to tell her everything is clean, or, well, it’s fine that it’s not. Some other stuff too. Lots of breathing.”
“I’m sorry I had to call y-”
“No,” He sits down in the chair across from me. “I’m glad you did.”
I nod, looking down at the carpet. It’s extremely beige. I don’t think I’ve seen a more plain shade of beige before in my entire
“You alright?” He asks. I look up. Staring at me. I force a smile.
Continue reading “its ok to not”
My life swings in this usual cliche. Every time I round the calendar into spring, my life tends to change drastically along with the weather. I feel brighter, the sun shines longer. I learn important things, the apple trees blossom. Even when something goes terribly wrong, thunder clouds gather and the rain pours endlessly. My life is the definition of pathetic fallacy.
And every spring, I tend to look back. Reflect.
Though in New York March isn’t really considered spring, today’s warm weather has prompted me to gaze back at my life, back at the upstate snow and blistering winds.
Last March was one of the worst times in my life.
Continue reading “march”
A thousand word, experimental short story
I find myself out of the situation. Placed not in the brightly lit classroom, but in a pool of thought, watching one fade in as others fade out. Watching the red glint of attraction fade at my feet. It seeps into the earth, which is white and sandy. I wonder where it goes. Maybe it digs through the earth, finding a place where it belongs. Maybe it will hide for now, until I look back up and try to hold it down with the sole of my shoe, keeping it buried forever. I miss it already.
Continue reading “A Picture”
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I sit in my office, foot tapping wildly. The room is an ice chamber of glass and words and gray paper. Letters and numbers swirl around the blizzard, confusing all of us. The anxiety in the stale air echoes along with the tapping of my foot on the ashy concrete. Cold air brushes against my skin and seeps into my chest, soaking my heart in icy fibers.
“Judith,” My assistant’s voice scrapes out of the intercom. I take a sharp breath, calming myself from the shock of her unexpected rasp, and tap the glass.
“He’s here for the report.”
Continue reading “Innominate // IV”
My stomach twists
In the uncertainty,
In meditation unmediated,
Of looking forward,
Consumed by it’s
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I sat on the rickety, college-funded bus, head blaring, rain pouring on the window, listening to the woman behind me talk on the phone. As we passed soaking wet orange leaves, sadly drooping down from the trees, as the ground below sped by in a haze, I could only just sadly stare off as she spoke.
“I just can’t be around white people today.”
Continue reading “November 9th, 2016”
People talk to me.
They tell me the important things.
Like how it feels to drag a knife across your skin
And to want to end it all
And to drown.
And then they turn away.
Your green songs
And our violet lines
And the way the air looks during sunset.
Continue reading “Perceptions // poem”
To start from the beginning, click here.
My head was full of grainy, sharp air. It started at my throat, spreading through my blood vessels up to the top of my head, where the air spilled out all over my hair, down in front of my eyes, and then, eventually, over my lips. My ears were screeching, bleeding sharp air, down into my throat. Up from my throat, my tongue was glass; red, grainy glass. I was a hot air balloon, an ancient fabric, filled with carbon dioxide.
Continue reading “Innominate // III”