Did Someone Say "hay"? 👀

Never felt more seen.

"Dark academic?" More like "someone please help me holy shit I can't continue living like this and the only thing keeping me from falling off my rocker is literature."

Writing period dramas in the discord, lads

At that point in my life where I FINALLY understand why people cry when they hear certain songs.

Exhibit A:

book dedications are so tender here is this piece of art i made for an audience of thousands. but really every word is for you

Starry Night ⭐

Lying down on our grassy lawn,

Stars arranged like they're drawn,

Little fingers intertwined,

Playing on loop Seeing blind.

Then, you stand up to light your cigar,

That's when I see a shooting star.

I see your face through lighters flame,

And realize both are the same.

(04.12.20)

Attempt at a prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting 's December prompts.

disquiet

A piece of me is always missing, Like the last block of lego that I can never seem to find One empty space right in the center of the jigsaw puzzle. I'm not sure if I lost it along the way. I'm not sure if I'm yet to find it. But lately, the gap seems more blatant. I'm anxious that it's visible to the people around me. That when they look at me, they see half a person. It's almost like I'm mimicking a being While I'm on the quest for the missing elements.

Sometimes, everything is wholesome! Golden skies, daisies, moongazing, Dusty libraries where ghosts of dead poets linger, Tight hugs, acts that mean "I'm thinking of you.", I look at my picture with my friends, smiling ear to ear And the jigsaw puzzle is complete. (or it was, then.) Some memories in me are so perfect that, The missing lego piece starts to feel like an extra piece From the table, you're trying to put together. It works fine without it, and there's nowhere to put it.

Then I'm back in my bed, back in my head. And I cannot remember how to be a whole person again I eat chocolate until I'm nauseated Or I never draw the curtains open and let the light flow through. I want to live life to the fullest, I never want to be seen in public again, I want all-consuming love, I want to believe I'm worthy of it, I want to feel complete when I'm alone, I want someone to feel complete with.

I want and I want and I want… Socrates said, (Yes, I went there) "He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have." What about, She who is never content with who she is? What about me?

SCRIBBLE AND SCRATCH

With a cup of tea, a pen, and my book

I sat to write at my favorite nook.

Head filled with voices trying to get out,

And a heart humming with tunes of doubt.

I scribble, and scratch then my words fade,

As I suppress the thoughts that make me afraid.

So I go back to the books that give me relief.

To find my answers within someone else's grief.

There are many problems within these books.

And in that world, solutions aren't mine to look

Within worn-out, annotated, and yellow pages,

I forget my fright as I did for ages.

Soon I'm drawn back to my nook

Holding on to empty pages of the notebook

I scribble, and scratch but the words don't fade

For I've let my thoughts out of its shade.

LIGHTS AND SHADES

All the Polaroids

Once lit with fairy lights,

Now stay in a box,

With not a ray of light.

Love,

just like photos, will surely fade

So I pulled up my walls

And hide behind it's shade.

(29.10.20)