i can't articulate but i can vomit english
i have so many ideas, moments, snapshots, thoughts locked inside. pivotal & mundane, deep & lighthearted. all of it wants out, all of it i'm afraid i'll forget; none of it seems to have language.
where is the expression format for those of us who struggle with words?
sometimes i wonder how such a (supposedly) small human can hold so much. at least, i am told that i am small, people try to pick me up--which ends badly for them-- (i'm a grown-ass woman what.the.hell do they expect?!) or ask how i reach things & tell me "your feet can't be tired you're so tiny they carry no weight" (america explain) & the whole world can see over my head & also runs me over because of that last phrase. in fact one of my friends recently picked up my disgusting work shoes because he couldn't believe how little it was. i don't *feel* small. this is my skin, and i can't compare it to any other skin. it's always been a funny reminder, like what? oh yeah that's right i guess i am a smol human? when it's mentioned. still surprises me.
maybe this is why i forget. maybe it's because i'm like an iceberg. so little above the waterline, sooooo very much underneath. humans would probably shipwreck if they tried to come in contact with it.
i don't know. none of this is making sense, is it? none of it appears connected and i should build a bridge. i know how to, you know. just like i know how to avoid run-on sentences and abstract metaphors that the concrete world around me stares at like Galileo would stare at the Hubble. i guess i just don't care. knowledge doesn't have to be applied every time. yeah? \all i know is i am reaching historic levels of filled up. all the alarms have burned out, so instead of flashing lights & sirens we just have a dull, pulsing sensation. kinda the same way the bass in a club next door throbs into the wall when you lean on it in the pizza store at 2am.
how can one be so empty, and yet so full? i have nothing to give. and everything to release.
i guess what's really trapped in here is emotion.
feelings.
ugh i hate those things. i never know what to do with them, the illogical tiny demons with minds of their own. except nothing makes sense so i don't think "minds" is the appropriate word. maybe it's instinct. i feel like humans should have evolved beyond instinct by now. wasn't that the point of intelligent design, hey God? meaning & purpose & creating & growing & bringing order to chaos? or something. i will delve into theoreticals far beyond my intelligence & education level long before i will face my demon-children. oops i meant feels.
to be fair to me, i have made efforts. i've given them space & time, i've read books from good authors and articles by my favorites. i've written--ok tried to write-- and i've listened to podcasts & songs that usually move me. but nothing comes, nothing flows.
instead it tries to leak out at the most inappropriate times. when Oliver the barista says "you know, you are the kinda person who can say the most blunt hard truths and yet never offend because you love people, and they know it, they know they are safe with you and that they matter." it climbs up my throat when i'm kneeling on a hospital floor, grounding a withdrawing patient so we won't have to tie her down. you can't afford to cry when your eyes are locked with someone who couldn't believe in the dawn and tried to miss it and is looking at you as if you are the only lifeline they have. in that moment, as the overdose leaves their system; i might be. it stings my eyes when my friend sends me a song that goes out like a flare into territory i long ago walked away from, lighting up the skeletons of bridges i burned with napalm and can't afford to rebuild. it throbs in my temples when my sister looks me in the eye and speaks aloud her deepest regret, one so tender & deep that i never knew the burden of it til now. it aches in my chest, threatening to rip the very muscles when my grandfather talks about living without the chemicals barely containing his mortality at bay. i choke on it, looking down so my adventure buddy won't figure out that i'm playing blind when i see the kindness he's extending, because if i take it i will shatter beyond repair.
it won't show up when i'm safe, when my falling apart won't hurt another. it only wants to escape when it can't. so i keep shutting it down, locking it away. swallowing. standing on this thin ice as the cracks spread father and father. i know i won't make it to shore. but somehow i can't fall through yet either.
and yet i come up so empty when i'm needed, when someone needs my brain or my heart. i want to be there, and i try. but my soul is looking out the window longing for 24 hours when nobody needs me. terrified of letting them down. vocalizing that maybe, maybe i am not the best one for holding other's lifelines at the moment. but they always hand them back.
and i can't find a rock to tie them onto.
where is the expression format for those of us who struggle with words?
sometimes i wonder how such a (supposedly) small human can hold so much. at least, i am told that i am small, people try to pick me up--which ends badly for them-- (i'm a grown-ass woman what.the.hell do they expect?!) or ask how i reach things & tell me "your feet can't be tired you're so tiny they carry no weight" (america explain) & the whole world can see over my head & also runs me over because of that last phrase. in fact one of my friends recently picked up my disgusting work shoes because he couldn't believe how little it was. i don't *feel* small. this is my skin, and i can't compare it to any other skin. it's always been a funny reminder, like what? oh yeah that's right i guess i am a smol human? when it's mentioned. still surprises me.
maybe this is why i forget. maybe it's because i'm like an iceberg. so little above the waterline, sooooo very much underneath. humans would probably shipwreck if they tried to come in contact with it.
i don't know. none of this is making sense, is it? none of it appears connected and i should build a bridge. i know how to, you know. just like i know how to avoid run-on sentences and abstract metaphors that the concrete world around me stares at like Galileo would stare at the Hubble. i guess i just don't care. knowledge doesn't have to be applied every time. yeah? \all i know is i am reaching historic levels of filled up. all the alarms have burned out, so instead of flashing lights & sirens we just have a dull, pulsing sensation. kinda the same way the bass in a club next door throbs into the wall when you lean on it in the pizza store at 2am.
how can one be so empty, and yet so full? i have nothing to give. and everything to release.
i guess what's really trapped in here is emotion.
feelings.
ugh i hate those things. i never know what to do with them, the illogical tiny demons with minds of their own. except nothing makes sense so i don't think "minds" is the appropriate word. maybe it's instinct. i feel like humans should have evolved beyond instinct by now. wasn't that the point of intelligent design, hey God? meaning & purpose & creating & growing & bringing order to chaos? or something. i will delve into theoreticals far beyond my intelligence & education level long before i will face my demon-children. oops i meant feels.
to be fair to me, i have made efforts. i've given them space & time, i've read books from good authors and articles by my favorites. i've written--ok tried to write-- and i've listened to podcasts & songs that usually move me. but nothing comes, nothing flows.
instead it tries to leak out at the most inappropriate times. when Oliver the barista says "you know, you are the kinda person who can say the most blunt hard truths and yet never offend because you love people, and they know it, they know they are safe with you and that they matter." it climbs up my throat when i'm kneeling on a hospital floor, grounding a withdrawing patient so we won't have to tie her down. you can't afford to cry when your eyes are locked with someone who couldn't believe in the dawn and tried to miss it and is looking at you as if you are the only lifeline they have. in that moment, as the overdose leaves their system; i might be. it stings my eyes when my friend sends me a song that goes out like a flare into territory i long ago walked away from, lighting up the skeletons of bridges i burned with napalm and can't afford to rebuild. it throbs in my temples when my sister looks me in the eye and speaks aloud her deepest regret, one so tender & deep that i never knew the burden of it til now. it aches in my chest, threatening to rip the very muscles when my grandfather talks about living without the chemicals barely containing his mortality at bay. i choke on it, looking down so my adventure buddy won't figure out that i'm playing blind when i see the kindness he's extending, because if i take it i will shatter beyond repair.
it won't show up when i'm safe, when my falling apart won't hurt another. it only wants to escape when it can't. so i keep shutting it down, locking it away. swallowing. standing on this thin ice as the cracks spread father and father. i know i won't make it to shore. but somehow i can't fall through yet either.
and yet i come up so empty when i'm needed, when someone needs my brain or my heart. i want to be there, and i try. but my soul is looking out the window longing for 24 hours when nobody needs me. terrified of letting them down. vocalizing that maybe, maybe i am not the best one for holding other's lifelines at the moment. but they always hand them back.
and i can't find a rock to tie them onto.
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