Holding Back Tears
I take a ragged breath,
Trying to hold them in.
Trying to hold back emotion?
But the tears leak anyway,
And more follow as the break in the dam widens.
A Failure, Me
Why do I keep failing?
Making mistakes?
What’s wrong with me?
Why can’t I be kind?
Why do I keep causing pain?
Am I selfish?
Perhaps.
If so, the hate I receive is deserved, is it not?
The hate from myself and others?
What thoughts and feelings can I trust?
What do I do…
Torrential
Why won’t it rain?
Why won’t it pour?
Storm?
If only I were the Weather Girl,
I could make it so.
I like the soothing sounds,
Of rain on roof,
Water and tires.
One-Way Mirror
I watch from the shadows,
Apart.
I listen from this bed,
Paralyzed.
I am like a spirit,
Invisible,
Not physical.
I am watching through a one-way mirror.
And yet I’m the one in distress.
Numb-But-Not;Helpless;Separated
Each day, more distress.
Each day, another horror.
Each time, I feel awful.
I am scared and angry but conditioned.
I can’t do anything; nothing at all.
I am separated; not connected.
It’s all “there.”
In that realm.
Higher up.
I can’t affect it,
And it not me,
So it does them,
Treading crushed lives,
Ever-closer to me.
Ten Icks
[Content warning: potentially disturbing/graphicly gory descriptions]
Life;
This hellish calm storm of fury.
Law;
Chains and death machines of control.
Lies;
Snares and hooks that numb your brain whilst shredding it apart before your glazed eyes.
Lake;
Toxins disguised as treats, unavoidable even with knowledge.
Lax;
The ultimate cause of our demise, that stupidity of wanting to be happy.
Late;
Two meanings, too late both ways, as we are all late and may as well be.
Lure;
That sickening lie, worst of all, killing us with pleasure.
Lair;
The unreachable Fortress where they reside whilst destroying us and themselves.
Lung;
That vital organ soon ripped out or decaying itself whilst making us limp and stumble over the edge.
Loss;
That inevitable and looming result which snatches the only thing keeping us sane and alive.
Care
They…care?
About me?
They don’t…
Blame me?
Hate me?
As I do?
It’s…not my fault?
I’m…not to blame?
I…am not evil?
I…can be helped?
Times/Hardship
"Kids these days," They say.
"Back in my day," They say.
"These are difficult times," They lament.
"Things were better back than."
"We went outside."
"We could breathe."
"We got sick and died."
"We had no rights."
"We spent time with family."
"We didn't have this dumb slang."
"We missed out on so much connection."
"We could use the Internet."
"We didn't have the Internet."
The times will always be difficult,
New generations will always be different,
With some appreciating the older generations.
There will always be one crisis or another.
I hold no hope that life—our world—will ever be Just and Fair.
Not completely, that is.
Corruption breeds like bacteria.
Hardship is natural.
Crisis is imminent and ongoing.
After all, who would want to live,
With no setbacks?
Who would be happy,
Being perpetually happy?
Who would be happy,
In "peace"?
In a good place?
No one.
And thus, we will never be happy and in peace.
Not fully,
Not perpetually,
And that is okay.
Hardship makes life worth living.
Working for something—earning it—is rewarding.
No cheat codes,
No "lucky" birth.
I sometimes—no, I often—wish.
I wish for many things—happiness, companionship, and...struggles.
I wish—perhaps irrationally—I was lower in the chain.
I wish my depression was worse,
I wish I didn't have a "good" life,
I wish I struggled to live.
I don't know why,
But I do.
Perhaps...Perhaps...
Perhaps then I would feel deserving of the love and sympathy I seek.
Necessary Sustenance
Sometimes I don’t want,
This necessary sustenance.
Sometimes I don’t get,
Enough necessary sustenance.
Sometimes it’s too much work,
Too few appetizing options,
Not worth it.
Wrote this at night, falling asleep.
Wrote this as a dream came to me.
Wrote this while I cried,
Wrote this and forgot it.
A Knock on the Door
A knock sounds, at my door.
I open it, and gasp.
Who is she, with no mask?
Who is she?
“I am you,” she says happily.
“Who you will become,” continues Lily.
I stand breathless, then begin sobbing.
I don’t stop for hours, and she’s at my side.
I just can’t believe it, but can all at once.
She is me, I am she.
I can become her.
I will.
This makes me joyous,
Beyond compare.
In this very moment,
More joy than sum-life.
More joy than ever.
For she is me,
And I am she.
I think this was the start--or, rather, continuation--of my anxiety.
YOLO
You only live once.
One life, so live your best.
Or at least enjoy it.
You don’t want to be lying,
On your deathbed,
By saying you have no regrets.
Life can feel short,
Or feel long.
It can feel like you have so much time—that you don’t have to worry.
Or it can feel as if, before you know it, you will be six feet under.
Do what you love,
What you truly and deeply want,
What makes you truly live,
Or you won’t.
Death looming,
Yet so distant too.
So uncertain,
Yet the ultimate end.
We only die once,
We might as well live once.
Death
When on the verge,
Descending six feet—one at a time,
I imagine I’ll be resigned—despite the tears in my eyes.
Death is only frightening when living, after all.
We fear the unknown, do we not?
So when it’s set in stone,
Known for sure,
There is nothing we can do,
Except exhale in peace.
Cold and Rain
When it rains,
I’m happy.
I get replenished,
Like the ground and green.
When it’s cold,
It’s refreshing,
Cool and crisp,
Welcome.
I long for when I feel the cold winter air,
On my exposed skin.
I long for the comfortingly bitter wind,
That banishes the unbearable heat.
I walk slowly,
So as to prolong it,
So as to stay a while longer,
In the cold, rain, or snow,
Before becoming trapped in a room,
With windows closed,
On a chair,
Each second misery.
I savor the cold,
The rain,
The snow.
I wish it was always cold.
I wish there were a perpetual breeze.
I wish for so much.
Or perhaps not.
67;23;#;M—W
Six-seven,
A fascinating phenomenon.
Twenty-three,
Bye-bye.
Two,
Margin of error.
97, 99.5.
Three.1fourum,
PiE, !
Ex do-be negative B +or- sq√t-bee-carat-two hyphen for AC, all top to a.
Pie are squared.
Logs and FoGs, LN with e too and 10.
2xStruck, R.
Wards and numb-ers.
Me mmms & pea pull.
L ipses, sits.
The ram bull-ings UV a sleep-deprEyeV'd girl.
A an, An na.
L, ily.
Abacadafæ.
Wrung-brane. No weight, eye ment(o) rung-brane. yes, Indeed.
Mmmm....
L
L
El
Take it ore knot.
Sit it or doughn't
Ehehe
E-prefix.
-Suffix.
Pre-fix.
Preach.
shhhh
shshshsh
hushlittlebaby
-3.141, 2.718
Gimme Gimme porfa.
Mewants it
Pweaseeeee
Nœw
Weghn wuz ð[ə/ɪ] last thyme-eye, slept .
tehe
hehe
i due bee tie err'd.
So eyethink Eye'll'go2 sleep zZzZZzzZ
checkmark li'l E, hehe.
Giggle goggle google gogol, perPLEXed.
whitespacenoise.
spelling
Spell, ing.
i and L, too similar
Are you Ill? Ill, I'll, Lili
yes hehe
arr tehe giggle goggle
mmmmmm
delulu
is you.
not me wadya mean.
justcuzi
dothis
I wrote the last one late at night before going to sleep. Might delete it honestly. Please don't judge.
- Lily ♥
No1 2Cry2 (No One To Cry To)
When I am sad,
Depressed, frustrated,
Lonely, confused,
Anxious and stressed.
When I am these,
The worst thing,
Is having no one to cry to.
I just have to sit or lay here,
Keeping it all inside.
I can’t even cry out,
Can’t do anything,
And it hurts.
It hurts so very much,
Having no one to cry to,
No one to listen,
No one that cares,
No one there,
To hear you.
You might as well not exist,
To the world.
And when I have no one to cry to,
To talk to,
I can’t do anything.
I can’t express my emotions,
Can’t get them out,
And so I stay quiet,
Fists clenched,
Arms wrapped around myself,
Mentally imploding.
And there’s no one to stop me,
To help me.
To listen.
No one I can cry to.
KnEeS
Sadness.
Then joy.
I see my knees,
Clad in this armour,
And can finally live,
And find some joy,
In this messy amalgamation,
of skin flesh bone blood,
That I am stuck in.
That I was unfortunate enough,
To have been born in.
Yet now I can at least stand it,
Yet now I can find joy
—✦Euphoria✦—
From this new creative artistry,
That is what I wear,
How I dress,
All these new possibilities,
New colors,
So much potential,
Used and loved.
HaTeR
The specimen,
I have not encountered.
The type,
I am fortunate to’ve avoided thusfar.
The specific human waste—waste of a brain and body—that doesn’t know how to love.
Perhaps they were raised that way,
Perhaps they’ve succumbed to the Third Ick.
Perhaps those in the Fortress are the true waste-of-space on this already-dead pile of plastic and bodies floating in the infinite void of nothingness.
What a wonderful time to be alive, Indeed.
Mispelled;letters;K,bored
Its vool jow,
Rhere sre xommon errord.
Ao xommon,
Ib facy,
Rhat i laufh rach rime i dee the .
Snd tet rhey xause frustratiob,
Ehen i csn’t corrext the .
Snd ir suxks.
Six.grl
Hey gwwd?
Wat?
Dis dude wuz gloatsoaking hiz rizz wile I hunched in da corna. Wuz sosad, dpress-making even. E’en talkig abt it makz meh dpress’d!
Ohgrl dat sux!! MeH8s wehn dumdudes do dat, but also js wehn tey re-mind me uv huu i am. ‘n tehn i feel laik carp.
Xct!! Laik if i dint hav u, id prolly ... idk. i dnt wna tink bout it...
omy now im in tears hehe..
Seven.grl
Hey vro gess wat?
Hm?.
So... I GOT IN!!!
OMY RLY??!! Das awsum!!
Yas! im so relv’d tbh... like, omy its actly so xtng!
*runs away*
In my defense, I was.. uh.. tryin out a new style? Tho the first one's so real.
- Lily
Sick of Home
I’m homesick, in that,
I’m sick of this home.
This dreary and unexciting,
Uncomfortable and cold,
Long-lived, too-long,
Home.
I long for a new home,
One I enjoy being in,
One I seek refuge in,
Not refuge from.
One I await,
Not one I return to with reluctance.
I’m sick of this home,
And long for a new one.
Missed Experiences;Missed Life
Where is my life?
Have I had one?
I get sad often,
When I see,
Hear,
Read,
Lives.
When I am reminded,
Of all that I’ve missed.
All I’ve never done, never had.
And I think,
I’d never give it up,
If it were mine.
Not Alone
Oh my.
I feel very…different.
Relieved?
Realizing I am not alone.
My experience is one others share;
It can be explained.
People get me.
I am not…a bad person.
I am not…wrong.
It is not…my fault.
And help will work.
I spent so long
—too long—
Thinking.
Thinking that what I was going through,
Was somehow untreatable.
I believed for so long
—to long—
That I had to explain,
And still no one would get it.
And now I know,
That they do get it.
That I am not alone.
Helpless
I can’t watch this,
I can’t read this,
I just can’t.
It’s all too much, this hate.
It’s all so wrong, our fate.
Was I born too late?
I feel something deep within—watching this unfold.
I feel fear, anger, and deep deep wrongness.
I can only ignore it so long—until they come for me.
I feel helpless—paralyzed—watching
I feel sorrow and depression.
I can only dream, hope, and plea.
Truth of Lies
I see the truth, behind the lies.
I see that unsaid, between the lines.
I see the implications, what will arise.
I untangle the words—see clarity from vagueity.
I untwist the meanings—seeing beyond implied.
I know how they think—I know how to think.
I can see that unsaid, that between the lines, the implications to arise.
I notice the subtleties, the word choice, the tone.
I watch with horror as you don’t.
Ok. The reason for the odd title and thumbnail is because I'm gonna start keeping the after-midnight writing separate from the daytime ones. I wrote these after midnight last night, which was technically today, but that's just confusing. Plus, I want to post them now, but also might write more today, and then would have to go back and edit to add them. So it makes sense, right? Also the reason for "22?" is because it works I guess and still fits alphabetically between .../22 and .../23. So yup.
Memory of a Memory
I have a memory… of a memory.
I can’t remember what I felt,
Only what I remember feeling.
I can’t remember the moments,
Just remembering them.
I remember remembering,
As these tears streak down my cheeks.
I don’t know why,
But they do.
Why can’t I remember?
I find it hazy.
A confused tangle.
The only thing that is clear,
Or clearer,
Is what I know I remembered.
I remember remembering.
I remember knowing.
And so some things are clearer
To me.
The only link to them being,
A memory of a memory.
While others are lost in the fog,
Behind tangled vines,
Buried under years of nature’s touch.
When I try to think of them,
I can’t.
My mind starts to race in circles,
Tripping over itself,
Disturbing the fog,
Allowing brief glimpses,
Or hints,
Where I can almost grasp it,
But it’s just out of reach.
And this is why,
I rely,
On memories,
Of memories,
Of my life.
Tears
Why do I cry?
And why do I not?
Why do tears form,
In moments like these?
Moments of expression?
Moments of connection?
And why am I not sad?
When they do?
What are tears?
These beautiful droplets.
It feels great,
you know.
The wet tears emerging,
To follow a path down my cheek,
And onto my pillow.
Why do I like tears?
Is it because I want to feel?
And they let me?
Or convince me I do?
Why do I want to cry?
Why do I want tears?
Why do I want fears?
Why do I want comfort?
To provide it?
I want to comfort her,
And be comforted.
I want to exchange tears,
Exchange fears,
Exchange our doubts,
And feel.
I want to
Be able
To love?
What I want,
I don’t know anymore.
Who I want,
I haven’t a clue, anymore.
And here I am again,
Up late again,
Laying here in bed,
Tears dried,
Tired.
I am tired,
Right now.
But not always.
Sometimes I want more.
No, always.
I don’t have what I want.
Eyes wet once again.
I wish I had what I want—something still unclear.
I wish life were comfortable,
I wish I was like any other.
I wish I could just start over, correctly this time.
I wish the button were here, now.
I wish I could just…be happy.
Why must so much be wrong,
In my head.
Why must I be like this?
I wish I could be like that.
Like her.
Why must my life have been so…different.
So unfortunate, no matter what you say.
Now I am more certain than ever;
I would do it.
I would, if such an opportunity existed.
I would do it without hesitation.
But alas, I am stuck in this state.
For now.
I mentally let out an anguished cry:
Why must life be so unfair?
Why must we be forced to live unhappy for decades?
And was that even living?
Have I lived?
And how will I live in the future?
I missed out on so much.
I haven’t had a life until but weeks ago.
And even now, not completely.
I wish I could start over.
I wish I could have had a better life.
I wish I could have lived.
But alas, wishes are no use, are they?
For we cannot change the past,
But we may influence the future.
Our future.
Our life.
We can live.
I can live.
I can have what I lost, perhaps.
If only somewhat.
Better Person
Sometimes you just have to suck it up,
And be the better person.
Sometimes you just have to realize,
That your feelings don’t matter.
Sometimes you just need to see,
That you don’t need to argue.
You don’t need to complain,
You can just do it,
And enjoy it,
Enjoy helping others.
Deeper Understanding
You know when you really get someone?
When they say something,
And are ridiculed?
Dismissed?
Silenced?
Ignored?
Misunderstood?
When the true meaning of their words,
Goes unheard?
But you know what they are feeling,
What they mean.
You know where they are coming from.
Perhaps it’s because you’ve been there,
Or simply understand.
Perhaps it’s because you spend your life observing;
Silent but watching.
They think you’re just daydreaming,
Spacing out,
Bored.
Truth is:
You can’t help but absorb and listen.
And so you understand, when others don’t.
You feel what they do, or at least know it.
You know what they are thinking, even if they themselves don’t.
Not in that way.
It takes someone like you to see it.
To see the layers.
To see beyond the surface.
To pick up on it.
To read between the lines.
To understand the mind.
It takes one who’s lived it, too.
Too Much
Just a meal.
Just a meal.
Can I just eat a meal?
Clearly not.
I want to leave.
Won’t they please stop.
This time it’s too much.
Too loud.
Too much.
Too much.
I can’t.
I can’t.
Let me leave.
Please just stop.
Please get along.
Please stop.
Please.
Please just be quiet.
Please be nice.
I beg you.
I can’t do this.
I can’t sit here.
It’s too much.
So much.
I don’t like this.
I don’t like this at all.
Please just defuse.
Please just calm down.
Please.
You’re making me feel things.
I don’t want to.
You’re making my heart race.
When I wanted calm.
You’re making my ears scream.
When I wanted peace.
You’re making me stressed.
And I’m imprisoned.
I must leave.
Please.
Quick.
I must leave.
This is too much.
Too much.
Too much.
And this time I’m not numb—a blessing and a curse.
Aftermath
I sit here alone, away from that.
I seek comfort in music, in writing.
I seek physical comfort, wrapping myself in a soft warm fuzzy self-hug.
Stomach unsated, body still tense, I seek comfort in the aftermath.
Fine on the Outside
I may seem fine—uncaring, even—on the outside.
I’m not.
I may look calm, even happy.
I’m not.
You cannot see what is going on inside my head.
You cannot see the thoughts racing,
The intense anxiety,
The stress,
The depression,
All trapped behind an immovable mask of this cursed expression.
It can’t escape, no matter what I want.
It can leak—in the form of anger.
But it cannot escape in expression.
What is wrong with me, I hope to know soon.
It’s fine—I’m fine.
Everything’s fine.
But it’s not.
The mask remains.
It permits numbness.
It allows rage.
It encourages numbness.
It is numbness.
I’m tired of feeling trapped behind it.
I’m tired of such internal fruitless struggle at its confinement.
I’m tired of freezing up or going numb.
I’m tired of snapping when it’s too much.
I’m tired of holding it in to the point where I can’t.
I’m tired of the lump in my throat.
I’m tired of doing nothing.
Of being nothing.
I’m grateful for this expression.
This release, this sharing.
This outlet.
I’m a Heart
Sometimes I feel like a heart,
In this cycle.
Never stop working,
No rest.
But I can’t rest—can’t stop.
I’m on the treadmill—not slowing down.
I’m on the wheel.
To stop means chaos.
To not means…a cascade.
So I keep going.
Check it off, momentary relief, sigh and continue.
Thus is the true cycle of life.
If this is even life.
It’s not what I dreamed of—not what I hoped for.
I have hope, though—small tastes of reprieve.
I keep that one hope in mind.
That salvation—I hope.
Some joy to the monotony and stress.
More joy.
For—yes—some joy has emerged.
When I feel it, I am content—ecstatic—happy.
And when it retreats—I fall back to bleakness.
And that’s when I most yearn for that hope.
Small Moments
There are these small moments that I’ve come to experience.
These moments I’ve come to look forward to.
These small moments bring with them perhaps more happiness than I’ve ever felt.
These small moments are what I seek.
Sometimes they occur through thoughts—dreams.
Sometimes through reflections—myself.
Sometimes through others—interaction.
And, sometimes, through me.
I try something new, and it feels right.
Over the weeks I see, uncover, discover, and come to know myself—to be myself.
I am so sure now—more so than before—of what I want, what I need.
I am more sure of me, through the small-yet-significant moments.
I might write more short stories soon.... hmmm...
- Lily
I wrote this kinda late yesterday, so I'm publishing it now the next day.
Unlived
She sat with them, happy.
She sat with them, a rare joy.
She sat with them, being herself—or trying.
She sat there in one of the few amazing moments of her life.
…
She walked with them, through the night.
She listened as they talked, sometimes joining.
She rarely spoke, however.
That was her way—as long as she could remember.
It could be hell, but it was life.
…
She ate with them, laughing and talking occasionally.
She ate with them, the so-so meal much better with friends.
And, yes, these were her friends, she supposed.
These were her friends, she hoped.
…
And then she had to leave.
If only she could stay.
She wanted to stay all night.
She wanted to be with them.
She wanted to have that experience.
She wanted to live.
…
She lay in her bed in the dark in the silence.
She stared at the ceiling and thought of her life and what she’d not done.
She, unmoving unblinking unfeeling,
Unknowing yet knowing,
Uncaring yet dreaming,
Unconscious yet watching,
Unlived.
…
She found it hard to
Be a human
When not near
Other humans
She found it hard to
Feel good
When she wasn’t
Who she could
She thought this was life
And she’d just live it
She thought she’d grow old
Or die young
She thought she’d do nothing
Nothing she wanted
She thought she’d do everything
Everything she displayed dispassionate passion in.
Now she knew
That she could be better.
Now she knew
That she could be happy.
Now she knew
She could love herself.
And now she knew
That she could be herself.
For all that is unlived,
Is yet-to-be-lived.
All that is not-done,
Is simply not-yet-done.
All she was missing,
For all her years,
All she wasn’t feeling,
For those cold dark years,
All she was wanting,
Yet believed were beyond reach,
All that she needed,
Was suddenly hers.
…
And so she returned,
To her friends.
And so she gained,
A lived-loved life.
Restrained
Do you ever feel,
Restrained?
Do you want things,
You can’t have?
Or don’t have?
Or won’t have?
Do you feel like what you truly want…
…is wrong?
And therefore…
…you just continue along?
Not loving what you do,
But pretending to.
Not being passionate,
Not expressing yourself,
Not being you,
Not exploring,
Not fulfilling,
Your inner truth.
Have you ever been scared,
To be yourself?
Have you ever been scared,
Of liking something?
And so you continue on,
Liking what you are told to,
Doing what you are told to,
…and beginning to believe it.
You see others,
Who express parts of that true you.
You are with others who do.
But you can’t ever tell them, can you?
Ridicule will follow,
You will be ashamed,
You will be wrong,
You will be an outcast.
A rebel.
A freak.
You must like this, you are told.
No, that’s not for you, they say.
These messages are absorbed.
You believe them as true.
You believe them as social law.
You become afraid of what you want,
So you “want” what you don’t.
You hope you’ll get a morsel,
Without asking.
You hope that accidentally,
You’ll get what you crave deep down.
Sometimes you do,
In those rare moments.
Most oft you don’t,
And live life depressed.
Do you?
Life I Want
Sometimes I want a different life.
I see you there, and think what it’s like,
To be you.
I wonder what you think, feel, dream, and fear.
I wonder what your life is like,
Happy and sad alike.
I wonder what your day is like,
And wish I could see.
I want to be you,
I want to be everyone.
I want to know what they think and experience,
No matter how bland it may seem.
I don’t care if you have a “boring” life,
That makes it all-the-better.
I want to see what everyone feels,
What you feel,
I want that life.
If only for a day,
Or two or three.
I want to Mitsuha,
I want to be Taki,
I want to be you.
I want to feel everything you do.
Everything challenge you may hate,
Every difficulty you face,
Everything you love,
Each precious moment,
Each passing thought,
You are so wonderful,
Even if you don’t feel it so.
Each moment you live is beautiful,
No matter how trivial.
You are beautiful.
If only we could share that beauty,
Together.
If only I could have that beauty—that life.
I don’t care what hardships I’d face—I just want a life.
I want to feel how I imagine you do—even if you neglect to notice.
Why can’t I…
Why must I continue on like this…
When will my life begin…
Will it ever?
…Or has it already begun?
Because it doesn’t feel so.
It feels like everyone else has a normal life,
One perhaps taken for granted.
Why?
Whywhywhy?
Can I please just…
…be you.
For a moment.
Tony
Tony opened the door to the classroom and hunched—trying to remain unseen—as he awkwardly moved through the room to find his seat. It was the first day of 11th grade, and yet Tony still felt like he was just starting high school. He barely knew anyone, and certainly had no friends. He rarely spoke more than a sentence to his classmates. He tried to avoid speaking in general.
Tony found his seat—luckily near the edge of the classroom—and set down his backpack quietly. He took a seat, then got out a notebook and pencil. He probably wouldn’t end up taking notes today, but he could always doodle mindlessly. Today, he watched his classmates, all sitting together with their friends.
Was sort of unfinished cuz I'm human an need sleep. Also, yeah. I think I forgot to write/didn't write on 2/13. Oh well.
- Lily
Day - pt. 2
Lily stood there, shocked. No one had ever wanted to spend time with her. No one had asked her to eat lunch with them. And here was Amy—someone Lily didn’t know but would certainly like to befriend—asking her just that. It felt great.
“Yeah!” Lily said, smiling. “That would be great!”
“Cool,” Amy said as they both walked out of the Statistics classroom.
As they walked to the dining hall—Lily shivering all the way, Amy bundled in a fuzzy sweater—they began talking. Lily had always found it so difficult to talk to people, even though she really wanted to. With Amy, it came more naturally—even if it was sometimes hard. She liked it, it felt good. She forgot about the cold as a new warmth filled her. Now that she thought of it, Amy was the first person Lily had said more than a sentence to in her entire time at this university. She had longed to do so, but simply couldn’t bring herself to. Sometimes it made her ache deep within from the loneliness. Lily craved human connection—friendship. Each time she saw a group of friends laughing together, she felt a pang. She wanted that for herself, but thought it could never be.
They reached the dining hall and entered to the warmth and chatter.
Day
Lily woke up as they did any other day. Their brain suddenly turned on, and they groaned. They snuggled deeper into their covers, but the shrill alarm still sounded from their phone. And that phone—it was all the way across the room. Why had she put it their again? Oh, yeah. For moments like these, when she just wanted to sleep forever. It was so warm though. Why did she have to get up?
Lily lay in bed pondering her existence, and eventually the phone silenced itself. He drifted off for…who knows how long. When his brain next awoke, he took in a breath. Crap, was he late? He sat up—pushing aside the blankets—and fumbled for his glasses. He got them on and set his feet on the cold floor as they got out of bed. They rushed to their phone and hurriedly tapped the screen a few times until the screen lit up. Crap. He had less than ten minutes before he had to get to class.
She grabbed the outfit she’d thankfully had the mind to set out last night before collapsing in bed and changed into it. She brushed her teeth—but didn’t have time to eat anything—and then looked at her backpack. She hadn’t packed it. Her computer was still on her desk—unplugged—and various folders and textbooks in a messy pile as well. Well, she didn’t need it all, right? She just had to get to Statistic…so all she needed was her Stats folder, a pencil, and probably her calculator. Oh, and her phone and—if she had time—her water bottle. Lily gathered these items up and stumbled out of her dorm room. She ran down the hallway—clutching the folder and calculator to her chest, water bottle held to her side by her arm, and phone in hand. As she used her elbow to open the door to the outside, Lily shivered. She was wearing a crop top. In the middle of winter.
Lily looked at her phone—trying not to drop everything. There was no time to go back for a hoodie. As it were, she would just barely make it to class. She might even be a minute late. She shivered at the thought—or maybe it was just the bitter wind attacking her exposed skin. As the minute ticked up on her phone, Lily made haste to her class. Her Stats class wasn’t the furthest away, but certainly wasn’t as close as some.
Whole body shaking, Lily opened the door—leaning against it—and was greeted with…slightly warmer air. It was never warm in this place. That, or it was so hot she could barely think.
Lily walked up the stairs, down the hallway, and opened the door to her Stats class. One or two people looked up, yawning, but overall no one seemed to care. Just another day at college. Lily’s usual seat was taken, so she frantically looked for a place to sit as she felt her calculator slipping. There. The one empty seat—well, the only one near the edge of the room. Lily let out a sigh of relief as she set her stuff down on the desk and took a seat. There was a woman sitting next to her—Lily didn’t know her name. She didn’t know anyone’s names.
Lily’s professor—who had clearly been waiting for her to show up—began speaking. ‘Alright everyone, let’s talk about z-scores…”
* * *
Lily packed up after her Stats professor finished trying—and failing—to engage half-awake students in a subject most of them hated. Lily didn’t hate Statistics—or math in general—but she was just so tired, and had found her focus drifting. She had filled another few pages with random doodles and a few poems to pass the time, like she often did.
As Lily stood up to head out the door, the woman she’d been sitting next to spoke. “Hey,” she said.
Lily could hear the shyness in her voice. She related to that so much it was painful.
The woman continued, fidgeting with her hoodie strings. “Uhm, I saw your drawings. They were really cool.”
Was she…blushing? No, it was probably just the cold. “Oh, uhm, cool,” Lily said. “What was your name again?”
"Amy,” she said. “You’re Lily, right?”
“Yeah.”
After an awkward pause, Amy spoke. “Uhm, Lily, do you wanna eat lunch with me?”
The first one's title describes its own creation.
Also, sorry I guess for all the posts, but I have a bit of a backlog.
Writing Past Midnight
Lily glanced at the clock on her laptop, then back at the pitiful paragraph she’d written. 1:56am. Damn it, she’d done it again. Lily had let the days slip by, pushing off the essay, always “I can do it tomorrow,” until she couldn’t. She literally couldn’t. It was due at the start of class tomorrow. In 7 hours. Lily didn’t know what to do. She so desperately wanted to sleep. To just forget about this damn paper and the damn class and her whole damn life. But she couldn’t, she knew. She groaned, then lifted her head, which had unconsciously drooped, and tried to keep her eyes open. She began typing, hardly knowing what she was saying, but knowing it would at least get her a good grade. And at this point, anything above a zero was considered “good.” Maybe she could deal with a zero too… No. She couldn’t think that. She had to do this.
More
I want more.
More swift solving.
More rush.
More.
More intellectually-stimulating?
Let Me Leave
You talk so much,
My eyes begin drooping,
I’m not even listening,
I hope I don’t need to.
It’s almost over,
Please let me go,
I must get out,
I hate this.
Sitting here,
I wish you’d shut up.
Although it’s also easy,
To just listen to your white noise.
Easy;Waste
IT’S EASY BUT IT’S NOT
or maybe i just don’t want to do it
IT SHOULD BE SIMPLE; I DO IT ALL THE TIME
yet i waste hours—delay hours—on what inevitably takes ten minutes.
WHY!! WHY MUST I DO THIS!!
i just do. i do. i...do. whether i like to or not.
I LIKE TO THOUGH!! AT LEAST…it depends.
and yet i write this. and yet i write this instead.
Just. Do. It.
Please.
Pressure…Surface
“I work best under pressure,” she says.
Yeah right.
“I have plenty of time,” they say.
Sure you do. And plenty of stress.
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” he says.
Uh-huh, I’d like to see that.
You know you’ll just keep pushing it off, Lily.
“But—but I still get things done!” Lily says.
Yeah…but is it worth it? It’s not like you use that free time.
"I—yeah…you’re right. I end up feeling guilty or just wasting it away. Or Staring at the Blank Page,” Lily concedes.
So…? What are you gonna do about that?
“Uhm…well…NOTHING!!!! TOO MUCH WORK!” Lily says. “Anyway, I got something to finish tonight…so unless you have anything else to say…?”
Fine. But keep it in mind. Please, Lily.
thINK;mINd;machine
Why?
Why do you surrender your mind?
Your thoughts?
You have no mind.
You don’t think.
That machine does.
It tell you what to think,
and you comply.
Willingly.
You want it to think for you.
You want it to turn you into this drooling, sleep-deprived, mindless, idiotic, half-human, horror.
I hate you.
I hate them.
I hate every. Damn. Thing.
In that vicinity.
I hate him.
I hate him.
I hate him.
I hate them all.
They can all just,
Do as you do and,
Willingly donate their brains,
Their potential,
Their souls,
Their lives,
Their…them.
To it.
Some of these come from SUs...actually I think both of these are lol. So yeah.
24......2025..26
Twenty-twenty-six:
Did I ever have a life before this?
Was I truly I?
Twenty-twenty-five:
What was this amalgamation?
What happened in Spring? Summer?
I remember only Fall, Winter.
I remember only…what happened.
Split in two:
First and second “halves.”
With the second, and more prominent, leading to now.
Twenty-twenty-four?
What happened there?
Year of Past, what were you?
More recent than I think?
Less distant than ‘25 leads me to believe?
Again, The Now, ‘26:
I know myself, more than before
I feel myself, for once
I wonder on all those years.
So many.
For what.
And am I truly…the Me I think?
Then, the strange Past:
It’s hard to think of…of…him
As me.
Painful to write.
Thoughts odd.
Now, I think what am I?
Who?
The Girl
I rushed through the cold,
Checked my watch,
Had time,
Entered.
Awkward moment,
Scanning,
Taken.
Occupied.
No.
There.
I see her, I approach.
She doesn’t mind, I hope.
I sit down, set down, settle.
And…silence. Silence between us.
Aaand that's the end of the catching-up. Here are two poems I wrote today. Hope you enjoy :3 And if not...that's okay too :3 Sometimes poetry can be boring...at least in my experience.
So Much;Too Little
So much I want to accomplish—try—explore.
So many ideas—thoughts—unborn creations.
So much time—or so they say.
So little time—is what I feel.
I have obligations—of higher priority.
I have free time—but no motivation.
I have countless ideas—unfinished—unstarted.
I rarely finish.
I rarely start.
I rarely stay committed.
I want to start now—but am held back.
Last Night
I lay in bed last night—following a stressful day.
Head resting on pillow—I cried myself to sleep.
Yet these were tears of joy—you see.
For reasons I will not say.
Yet it had to do with my dreams—you see.
Those dreams just-glimpses.
Last night I dreamt—though I could not tell you what of.
When I woke up—with fleeting flashes.
I wished I could remember—I wish I would not forget.
Yes, I awoke—should I have stayed?
Could I have remained?
Or could I let those dreams—fantasies—flow here?
