She was fractured
At the apex of anxiety,
she made confessions
on hands and knees
with a toothbrush,
scouring every quadrant
of the carpeted floors
of grouted tiles
in the bathroom
extracted the pain
Bleaching every discoloration
in a futile attempt
to excise the stains
her porous heart,
she managed the stress
as it was decaying
the cavity of her soul.
At the cusp
of the disease,
reduced to pulp,
to skin and bones,
with every nerve
exposed at the root,
she would bite her flesh
for the debridement to begin:
eroding her enamel
in the name of attrition,
until it was time
to smile again,
occluding her anguish
behind polished veneer.
as victor of volition
for the careful calculus
of every calorie consumed,
she was incapable
of making a dentin
her abscessing over
every fault that plagued her.
Just A Second.
Stifling. Stretching, still somehow stagnant. Simply sulking. Stop.
There. Triumphs, treasons - thrice thought. Tumbling through time, thrashing to try to
rest. Restless, relentless, reoccurring. Returning raging, rioting, real revenge. Resistance -
endless. Empty. Enormous empire, ending eons evaded. Ever-evolving, ever earning
streaming straits, simmering sweat, stilled shivers, silenced shock. Still stifled.
Struggling. Staggering. Standing. Stranded, striving some serenity. Staying ~
to fight another day.
I can’t get you out of my head
You are in my head
poking at my brain
and dashing away.
Your laughter echos
filling the empty space
with a sickening sweetness.
You are leaving
on my circling thoughts
(and now I'm thinking of loving you).
get out of my head.
get out of my head.
get out of my head.
(You are in my head, and I'm okay with it)
hourglass of time
seems to flow quicker these days
each grain of sand
seems to disappear with a simple moment
tick tock tick tock
my time has run out with bland shock
i shall never know how much sand lies in my hourglass
i try grasp onto it
but the sand eventually slides out of my fingers
falling into the great ocean of eternity
written with the help of @littlesquiddie
I cannot stress this enough
Every word a burden
I'm collapsing under my own weight
Every calorie a stick to be burned
Every insult another heavy task to fulfill
And my schedule is painfully busy
Trying to rip apart my planner
But the paper sews itself back up
With a rope tied in a noose
Every thought is to be written down
So I won't forget
My duty is to do
All the things I can't.
Choose your weapon
Get ready to face the demon
Here it comes charging forth
Moving with a lot of force
Gather all the troops
This is going to be a hoot
Fight on and defeat the army
Remember there’s no need to worry
We may lose this battle today,
but we shall make sure to carry on
fighting with our body, and soul—
O- how many more days to go?
The window was closed, so I thought, until a snowflake pushed itself through, riding on the breeze into my lap on a 90 degree day. Alarmingly, it boldly landed upon my bare skin, my 98.6 degree thigh to be exact, right below the hem of my shorts and immediately melted, leaving raw evidence of its arrival.
"This cannot be. Have I gone mad? Am I dreaming?" I had to know. So two fingers of my own gathered themselves into a pinch right where the water decided to reside and I knew without a doubt, dreams were on another side of the cloud that sent the anomalous snowflake to me.
I stood, dropping the book I was reading onto the floor, stepping over the lost page in a huff, anxious to investigate a potential event that should not be happening beyond the walls that tried to keep me.
Dragonflies swarm and so can snow, from the East and the West, the North, and sometimes the South without permission or invitation mercilessly, and low and behold here before me was the oncoming proof, but how would I ever get anyone else to believe me?
So I reached and I grabbed so much more than I should, snowflake after snowflake, packing snowball after snowball until a boulder of ice was in front of my feet and then without thinking, I pushed the weight around the dry dead grass of summer using every ounce of strength beneath my swollen disconcerted skin, without a destination, because it had to be done, leaving unanswered questions in its wake.
Defeated, lumbering back into the house I saw them coming out of my seeing eye; the thirsty mature dragonflies approaching from the South. And suddenly within the chaos of my life, for a fleeting moment, I understood.
I’m sitting here on the floor of the bathroom throwing up MOSTLY into the toilet. I hope I’m not coming down with something. My stomach’s been queasy, my head’s been dizzy, and I haven’t felt like myself at all today. Maybe it’s the late hours at work. They’ve been holding me over WAY past my typical shift. I’ve been working from 7 to 7, sometimes beyond. So many of these new, young, fly-by-nights have been “hired” but never seem to notice when their names actually appear on the schedule. Maybe I’ve worried myself sick about that pile of bills lying in my email box. Instead of “overdue” papers, I have a boatload of failed auto-payments accumulating late fees. Even with all these long hours I’m working, the money never seems to be enough. Maybe it’s this hot guy I fell in love with. He bit his bottom lip and convinced me to elope a couple of months into dating. He says he loves me. I believe him. He makes love to me at least twice a day. I started thinking that he might just be an addict, but he assured me that he only does it with me ’cause he loves me, ’cause I saved his life. Turns out, he’s tied to all kinds of shady deals behind the scenes. He loves me and all, never hurt me or anything, but it’s just the life he was living has now crashed into my already hectic one and I think I’m on overload. Maybe I’m just tired. All these weird things going on that I never thought would be happening. They say that stress can kill, so I know I must be dying.
I manage to finger my wavy hair out of my face, struggle to my feet and rinse out my mouth. I half wipe down the bathroom before throwing on a navy blue hoodie and heading to the corner drug store. I raid the shelf of multiple pain killers, cold medicines, flu fighters, and some pink stuff in a bottle that I hear is good for nausea and upset stomach. Briefly glancing at a label while standing in line, I realize that most of the medication in my hand cart is suggested to be avoided when pregnant. Suddenly, all types of thoughts bombard my brain. I see the woman ahead of me cooing at a two-year-old sitting in the buggy seat. I am NOT ready for another stressor to be added to my already overflowing plate. When the cashier calls “NEXT!” in her understandably slightly annoyed tone, I step up.
“Uhh, ma’am, hi. Ms. Hattie?” I fumble, trying to read her nametag while simultaneously looking around for any familiar witnesses, “Do you know where the--”
“Pregnancy tests are?” she finishes, producing one out of thin air and sitting it on the counter.
“How did you--”
“Suspicious looking young girl in hoodie browsing through the medications?” she chuckles, “I’ve been working here for thirty years, honey. Nothing’s changed.”
“Okay,” I pout, not feeling any better, “Well I’ve never bought this kinda thing before, so...”
“It’s 5.99 and no. You don’t need to waste your money buying two. These things are proven to be 99.9% accurate on the first reading. Plus, nine times out of ten, if you even think you need to buy one of these, deep down inside you already know the answer.”
“Are you sure?”
Ms. Hattie smirks, glancing towards the door. “Child, that woman who just walked out the door bought one of these from me about three years ago. Do the math.”
As I upchuck half onto the seat, I cringe despite myself. He’ll be home any minute now. I wonder what he’ll think. He’ll probably blame me for forgetting to take the pill that morning. He’s doesn’t take responsibility for doing anything in that regard-- except me of course. And, I’ll admit, it’s good. Like, out of this world. But he’ll probably want some tonight and I’m really not feeling it. I’m staring at these two lines and praying its a false positive. Deep down, I know Ms. Hattie was right, and either he’s gonna have to deal with it, or I’m gonna end up a broke, single mom, begging my parents to let me move back in.
Suddenly, I find myself waking up, sunlight hitting my sensitive eyes. “Babe, you awake?” I hear his voice crackle. I try to arise and push off the covers from the bed I don’t remember climbing into. I turn to see him anxiously staring at me with his bright, brown eyes, seeming to hold back tears. “We can do this, right?” he smiles. I squint in confusion. My head is pounding, and I vaguely remember anything. “Are you okay with it? I’m okay with it,” he sniffles, biting his lip in that sexy way. “I love you so much,” he gasps, pulling me into a hug. Behind him, I can see the drug store bag on the floor near the bathroom, lit from the light I forgot to turn off. Suddenly, the memories come flooding back along with involuntary tears. “You know about it? You saw it?” I cry. He nods his head, still holding on tight to me. “We’re gonna be okay,” he whispers. I smile and finally breathe. Maybe the stress isn’t so bad when you have someone fighting by your side.
The real reason why
everyone think we eat desserts when we are stressed because it increases serotonin levels in our brains...
No one knows that those who deal with stress are so OCD they realized stressed spelled backward is desserts...
obviously to undo stress we do it backward
prove me wrong
(actually pls don't I'm a happy person today)