idontthinkithinkalot

[idontthinkithinkalot]

men piss me off

It is impossible to live a life as a woman. Being a woman equates to losing privileges that many take for granted, and simply existing feels like a constant battle against systemic oppression. Sure, you can survive, but the truth is that you will never genuinely experience the security or peace of mind that men enjoy. One doesn't even need to identify as a woman to suffer these consequences; merely being perceived as one subjects you to a barrage of biases and expectations. I knew about this when I was just ten years old, and I remember being so angry. Why was I so angry? Was it because I was watching one of my cousins being treated as if they bore a curse for something as natural and uncontrollable as periods, or was it watching my grandmother unleash her frustration on my mother for having the audacity to earn more than my father, or was it watching my friends confining themselves within the narrow box of societal expectations for young women? I was enraged, and I think I have been enraged ever since, and the world seems to not want me to calm down because it only gets worse.

I have been so full of rage that I have forgotten what it feels like to feel other emotions. But as it comes with it, I have always felt fear, anxiety, stress, and worry with my rage. It seems to me as if that comes with the package of being a woman—to correct myself—being a woman in this world. It is a world of men. I knew that from a very young age, as most women do. we were never just girls; we were thrust into adulthood, stripped of our childhood. We watched as the boys in our neighborhood lived with no fear in their eyes. We watched as the boys we deemed to be our friends turned against us to disregard our honor publicly. We stood by, powerless, as these boys—who were forbidden to be labeled as men, no matter how mature they had grown—mutated into monsters who saw us as mere objects. I hate that society dictates such limitations; I will call them what they are: men. These men were once our friends, our family, and they have betrayed us, becoming the very monsters we never imagined they could be. The rage boils within me as I grapple with the disillusionment of recognizing that those we once loved are capable of such dehumanization. How can we stand idly by while they discard their humanity, reducing us to nothing but expendable flesh? Why are we expected to be silent?

Every girl has at least one horror story. Before she even grows into a woman; before she blooms, she’s plucked out and destroyed internally, eternally, and is expected to never speak of it because what a shame it is for a young girl to have no honor. No one asks why she has no honor or who took it. What a shame it is that she is so dirty and impure by the hands of “boys” who aren't grown. So when do the boys grow? When they are on their deathbeds? When do the boys grow to learn that women are people and people deserve to be respected? Who teaches these boys to dishonor another person and get away with it? Society is the answer. It has been our enemy since misogyny took over, but the truth remains when men failed to rule the world; when men failed to run the very world that they created, it was we women who repaired it, held it together in these very hands, and brought back the order of the men’s world that the men created and destroyed. 

If you ask a man to give an opinion on this, however, they wouldn't know. That's the problem with men; that was always been a problem with men. They're ignorant. They don't know because they don't care. It doesn't affect them; instead, it makes their lives easier, and humans, or at least men, are selfish creatures. And for men, it's different. They can be ignorant; it's even preferred that they remain ignorant so the world moves on at the cost of the women who birthed them. So to no one's surprise, men suck. Generally globally and reasonably. The reason is they're terrified of women and what we are capable of. So they oppress us and keep us in a small cage so that we don't realize what we are worth and capable of—what we have been capable of all along. The truth is we don't need men; they’re useless. There is nothing women cannot do that a man can do; however, there are a lot of things women can do that men can't. You can't tell them that; it’ll offend them, and you’ll find them on the ground clutching their balls, begging that we show some value to their semen. It's pathetic really; men can be so pathetic.

But this is not about men. This is about women and women not getting to live. We can survive this world like all the women who came before us have but we cannot live. It is impossible to embrace life while being burdened by stress, worry and fear. Sometimes it's impossible to even survive. There comes a point when you are and have been acting so strong and so stern that you are numb to it all to the world that perceives you, but you know when you’re alone and it's dark and there is nobody nearby, no walls to embrace you, no hands to protect; you are not numb to any of it. It comes and it comes, and it never goes away no matter how sick you are of it; like a little bird in its cage, the world cages you, and all you can do is survive or die. 

So to survive you turn into a monster. But you are kind so kind so soft and once you unravel and peel out the walls to show the world that you are kind and you are full of love they will destroy you until you cant build the walls anymore. 

I have turned myself

 into a rock

Hard to look

 and rough to touch

The walls i built 

and the doors i locked

Just to be safe

Just to be alert

They sliced down my wings

Before it could bloom

Told me to stay calm

As they burn up my wounds

Creepy smiles and hands in places i did not cave

I was a child; i needed love; i didnt want to be brave

All you are taught

From a very young age

How to say safe

How to be alert

Cruelty and evil

That runs in your veins

Is that what really makes you the men?

So I put up these walls,

and seal down the gates.

Noones getting in,

and youre finally safe. 

But it gets lonely

as the winter comes. 

You are frozen and stunned and noone cares. 

You look strong and you look mean

They watch you stop breathing

They let you turn blue and green

And as the life leaves your skin

You are gone

And you are safe

You wont have to survive the life of a woman again

[idontthinkithinkalot]

Thirteen

I wouldn't find my thirteen-year-old self if I tried, because I'm not entirely sure where I could find her. I would look within myself, but perhaps I’ve changed too much. But as I wander around the neighborhood, I see her in a mart, talking to someone who used to be a friend of mine—a friend of hers at the moment.

Nostalgia is weird. I've never felt nostalgic enough to yearn to live in the moment that I've already lived once—I tend to move on; or, in raw, honest words, I tend to abandon the things, situations, or people who do not fill my cup, and she is—well, there is no point in approaching her, is there? So, I try to walk past her, but her eyes meet mine—well, she’s seen me now, and I can't walk away.

“It must be a dream (a nightmare more likely)," I think. “Let's just get this thing over with.”

With much hesitation, I make my way up to her. She’s a little shorter (5’4”, I’m sure), and her hair is way longer than mine. She doesn’t have bangs or layers; her hair is wavy, probably from the braids she has to do for school every day. She has no makeup on, no acne scars, nor a septum piercing. I try not to judge her outfit—a pair of black skinny jeans and a white tee with Vans. As I perceive her appearance, let’s say she’s judging mine. Harshly. I can tell. A lean figure standing at 5’10”, short hair, mini bangs, a septum piercing, and black lipstick. I can’t tell if she’s admiring or recoiling at the sight of me. She looks me up and down, probably judging my outfit—I’m wearing a black top and a long black skirt with boots that make me look 2 inches taller (I’m actually just barely 5’8”). To snap her out of it, I hesitantly speak up.

"Hey," my tone came out as flat as a pancake.

I could see pure shock crossing her face, and her jaw dropped slightly. I had always been so expressive—dramatic, even. I pressed my lips together to stifle a smile as she stuttered quietly, “Y-you sound like me.” Then her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every part of my being with her gaze.

“Well, it’s probably because I am you, just six years older,” I shrugged, trying to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. But inside, I was panicking. I couldn’t freak out in front of her; she would have a meltdown right there. I walked her to the benches, and she sat down right next to me. In silence—an awkward silence. 

“Where do you live now?” 

That was her first question, and just like that, for the something-hundredth time this year and last, I could feel my heartsinking—breaking, even.  

“We couldn’t move out. Someone sabotaged it at the last moment,” I mumbled, looking away as if it didn't bother me.

She looked at me with her sad eyes,

“Mamu?”

“Mhm”

 She didn't speak for a while, but then she looked at me and held my arm.  

“That's okay. You’re used to all of this by now.”  

And she's right; partially I am used to it, just sick of it, at this point. But what's done is done, so I just shrugged in response.  

“At least you’re pretty... like really pretty,” she said, making me smile. 

“So, how's school?” I asked her, mainly, to change the topic. She smiled at me and shrugged, “It’s good. Way better than last year. I cut off a lot of my friends, but I’m happy with just having five friends now.”

I realized I used to have more than ten friends. I chuckled softly when she turned to ask me, “Are you still friends with Abhi?”

“No,” I replied. 

“Why not?” 

“He turned out to be a massive jerk, so we cut him off.” 

“Oh.”

“...Yeah, sorry, you probably didn’t expect that.”

“What about Kusum?” 

“We drifted apart. It’s fine, though. You have other friends who are really amazing.” 

“Like who?” 

“Well, you know Anadika.” 

“We aren’t that close—” 

“But you will be.” 

“That's nice.” 

“You just haven't met people who feel like home yet.” 

“But I will?” 

“But you will.”

She smiled and nodded, satisfied, I hoped. I prepared myself for her questions; she was quite chatty.

“What do you study?” she asked.

“Computer engineering,” I replied.

“Cool. At least that’s according to the plan.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Does Mamu know about the piercing?”

“Yes, but she has forgotten because I flip it.”

“Flip it?” 

I flipped my septum ring inside my nose, watching pure wonder pass across her face. She chuckled.

“So, you’re rebellious?”

“Maybe?” I laughed.

“Do we get to go out with our friends?” she asked again.

“Yes.”

“That’s nice,” 

“I guess it is,” 

She sighed and leaned her head back on the wall. I turned to her. "Are you hungry?"

"No, I'm fine."

"We could go to that café."

"What café?"

I stood up and signaled for her to follow me. We walked to a café that I had grown really fond of; they make good coffee, and it’s affordable. I sat her down on one of the couches and took a seat across from her. She looked around, likely taking in the view and the ambiance.

"So, what coffee would you like?"

"Uh... maybe a latte?"

I placed the order while she looked at me in awe. When I turned back to her, she was leaning forward, almost whispering, "You don't get stressed talking to people anymore."

"Yeah, no, it's fine most of the time," I nodded, and she grinned.

We sat in silence for a while. She sipped her latte while I got my cortado. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she asked, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

I almost spit out my coffee and chuckled. "Yeah, no, we don't have... a boyfriend."

She frowned at that and asked again, "Have you EVER had a boyfriend?"

I pressed my lips together, amused. "Well, not officially, no. We've never had a BOYfriend."

"Why not? You're so pretty, and you look so cool!"

"Ambesha—"

"That's not fair! I don't get to move out AND I don't have a boyfriend?" She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"We've been in relationships—"

"But you said you've never had a boyfriend!"

"Officially, no."

"What does that mean?"

"I’ve had girl..friends."

"Huh?"

"Yeah?"

"How—girl?friends?"

"Yeah?"

"Like friends? Girlfriends?"

"No, like I've dated girls."

Her eyes went wide in almost horror. "Wh...a...t?"

"Yeah, it was quite nice."

"You're gay?"

"Well, yes?"

"So I can like girls?"

"And boys."

"You can like both?"

"And more."

"There IS more?"

"Well, yes." 

"My head hurts."

"I can tell," I smiled awkwardly and sighed. Oh, this is a nightmare.

"How many people have you dated then?"

"Three... officially."

"And un..?officially?"

"Four."

"So you've been on dates? Have you had your first kiss? Who was it? Was it good? Did you kiss girls? Can girls kiss each other? And what do you mean I can like both AND more? What IS ‘more’? Have we dated someone who was ‘more’?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! One question at a time, please."

"Sorry."

"Yes, I've been on dates."

She grinned as if she was pleased with herself, which made me laugh.

"How many?"

"Uh..." I looked at her and could tell she was expecting an answer. I sighed and quickly counted in my head. "Do you mean with how many people or—?"

"Yeah, that."

"Like five?, I guess?"

"Girls or guys?"

"Both…?" I added "and more?" she added and I nodded in response.

“First kiss?”

“I don’t want to spoil it for you—”

“Ugh, you’re so lame.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you’re excused.”, she rolled her eyes at me and looked away.

“Stop trying to be mean to me; I’m basically you.”

“Ugh, fine, but you’re going to tell me.”

“Fine, you’ll have it when you’re fifteen.”

“Who will it be?” 

“You haven’t met her yet.”

“HER?”

“Well, yes.”

She looks at me uncomfortably, and I just shrug at her. 

“Was it good?”

“It was fine.”

“How many girls have you kissed?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

“Can you just answer my questions?” she snapped. 

“Three.”

“You were dating them?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fall in love?”

“I’m not sure, probably.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?” 

I just shrugged. She was starting to sound like my therapist. 

“Did they treat you horribly?”

“Well—I” I didn’t want to answer that, so I tried to avoid it. “It was good while it lasted.”

“I just don’t know if I trust people enough to date. But girls are kinder,” she mumbled, mostly to herself., “it was good while it lasted”, i said again

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t been cheated on, though, right?”

I didn’t want to answer that either, but she glared at me, so I stuttered, “Well... I might have- been... someone might have cheated on me—at some point?”

She sighed and gave me a look that said, “Really?”

I shrugged.

“I assumed women would be better than men-What about boys?”

Uh oh, I thought. “uh, what about them?”

“You’ve never dated one?”

“Not officially, no.”

“What does that mean?”

“We went on a few dates, but we didn’t really—”

“Oh. Was he handsome?”, she looked unusually curious.

“Sure.”

“Then why didn’t you date him?”

“Because men are jerks”

“oh”

I sighed. It was more embarrassing for me than it was concerning for her—and you, I suppose.

“He was a pathological liar. When someone is lying to you about their entire identity and hiding behind a mask of the person you ideally like, it’s almost impossible to catch the lie.” 

“So he lied to you about—”  

“Everything.”  

“Well, that sucks. I guess I'm naive and gullible even at nineteen.”  

“Ouch, you bitch.”, I scoffed.

She chuckled and flipped me off. I rolled my eyes and laughed it off.  

“So is ninth grade gonna suck or-?”

We fell into silence once more. The atmosphere felt heavy. She was going to have a rough year ahead.  

“Ambesha?”  

“Yeah?”  

I didnt know where to start. Do i tell her?

 Shes so young, and bold but naive. I was so young, and bold but naive. She looked scared about what i was about to tell her. And she is right to be scared.

“You shouldn’t trust men.”

“Yeah.”

“Even if they’re your best friend or family.”

“Oh.”

“I’m serious.”

“I can tell.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. She’s very smart; she’s always been so smart.

“Would you want to go back and be a 13-year-old again?”

“Hell no.”

She laughed.

“No offense, it’s not you; it’s how things are for you.”

“I’ll grow out of it.”

“Oh yes, you will.”

I hugged her the way she secretly likes to be hugged—my hands on her head and my chin resting on top of it.

“Would you do anything differently if you were me?” she asked, her voice muffled against my chest.

That froze me. 

I hugged her tightly, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall from my eyes. There was one thing I would have done differently: I would have avoided the person as much as I could or told one of my cousins about what happened. But could I tell her at that moment? She’s so young... God, I was so young when it happened. A part of me wants to take her away from it all.

I blink back my tears and search for my words, but I have none. I have no idea what to tell her. Should I unpack the trauma she hasn’t yet experienced? It would be for her own good. I sigh heavily and look down. She’s gazing at me with her big brown eyes. God, I was so young.

“You'll be fine as long as you don’t trust men. That includes friends and family.”

“Specifically?”

I hesitate.

“You don't have to tell me even though I'd like you to tell me”, that surprised me. “Okay”

We sat in silence. She clung to me like a koala. This was the only time she showed any vulnerability or affection—when she was with me. I didn’t push her away; I was all she had. She complained about our mom, and I listened. 

When she stood up to pay for her latte, I made her sit back down and paid for her instead. 

“It’s okay, it's just me,” I said.

She nodded, though I could tell she was slightly uncomfortable with me paying. She doesn’t like asking for help or depending on anyone, which is ironic because, in a way, I am her.

We walked out of the café with her hand resting on my arm.  

“Is growing up as fun as you imagined it would be?”  

“It’s better than being a 13-year-old in that house, for sure.”  

She laughed, her eyes glimmering with hope. "I can't wait to grow up so I can be just like you," she said, filled with certainty. I chuckled in response, "You'll be just like me whether you like it or not."

"A part of me knows I’ll love it," she said, seeming so sure of herself. I just smiled back before we parted ways.

I left her there where she belonged—in the past—and moved on. I walked my own path, doing what she always did best: growing. People often say I’m too wise for my age, too much for them to handle. But after reflecting on who I used to be—still lovable, still kind, still gullible, and still wise—I’ve come to realize that it’s okay. Maybe it's acceptable to retain some parts of myself from the past; maybe I will never fully escape being who she was. Perhaps being Ambesha means being too wise, bold, and strong, with just a touch of drama and flair. 

With some hope that I absorbed from her and a sense of assurance from my former self, I make my way toward almost twenty, still too much for the world to swallow. And that’s alright because it only means that the people who can embrace me have hearts as big as my own, ready to welcome all that I am.

[idontthinkithinkalot]

Heartbreak is nothing compared to the aching open wound my parents have inflicted on me by denying the one thing I'd ever dreamt of- a way out. A perfect plan; a perfect escape; I'd never look back and it would've been done if I'd known how cruel my mother can get. The guilt consumes me entirely as I write down these words for how could a daughter call her parents cruel; it is not that I do not love them but how I cannot love myself as I offer them what they please: that is all my life has become. Like an empty shell with nothing within- it isn't correct but it is how I feel: dead and empty and numbed out of my body- trying to escape what has become my reality. What great sin had I been found guilty of for the universe to punish me with such cruelty- I do not know. For someone who sounds so blue and dejected I act so much like the life of the party- you couldn't for the love of God figure out how the voices in my head want me to end it all every single day. A perfect mask embedded to my face like pearls on my skin- you're distracted by the shine so much to notice my rotting flesh within.

Dismissed and denied: all that sums up my life story.

[idontthinkithinkalot]

Tender and soft and too soft for it all. My hands are bony, my cheeks hollow and my flesh is rotting inside the cracked skin of what makes it my body. But I wear my heart on my sleeve no matter how many times my arms are ripped out and burnt right before my eyes. Sensitive they call me; mean I call them. I have to be mean so I am not used but what is the point if I'm so useless so I let them use me until the ink runs out and I am abandoned- thrown away with the pile of what are empty shells of who they all used to be. Time heals they say but how would time ever heal a wound that runs as deep as the soul? There's a hole in my chest and what passes through consumes me entirely. Heartless they call me but how is it my fault that my heart was ripped away and apart and chewed on like a starving savage with his first hunt of the cold freezing winter? Ironically enough, I sympathise with the savage though I am his prey and I shall suffer his Cruelty. So am I really mean or am I just mean to myself? Every crisis and every little sting reminds me how deprived of love I really am because how can someone love something that has no heart and is stupid enough to sympathise with its predator? The games they play, and I play along like a puppet searching for love that my own mother couldn't provide. I may be cursed or just neglected for God has many children and I happen to have been the fallen angel who was great until he wasn't- then I was useless for my ink had run out; I was banished with the pile of empty shells of people once full of life and though I am much muchier it doesn't matter for I have fallen and the angels who fall are nothing but monsters who had their hearts ripped out and their core ripped apart. That is what makes them a monster

[idontthinkithinkalot]

I don't know what's worse- the voices in my head are starting to make a lot of sense. I feel like I have to remain unknown: not figure out what lies beneath the closed-off exterior or the stone-cold surface that is my skin. All I do is whine and complain and nothing goes right so I bite and I break. I do too much and I feel too deep- I feel things in my bones and I feel like ripping out my flesh and tearing apart my core. I kiss their skin and they eat my heart out like a pomegranate and it comes to a point where you think what really is the point? So I stop and I pretend I'm fine because I am fine and I'm supposed to be fine and I don't know how to tell people I'm not. I suffer in silence and build up the walls with no gate; no place to walk in or break. But I'm not things, I am a being so things do resurface and as a being I feel, no matter how much I pretend I do not. I feel and it hurts my heart- physically. And when it does, I cannot seem to make it stop until I start spiralling and I hit rock bottom but if you ask me what's wrong, I will tell you I do not know for I don't. It should have killed me and it would if i weren't cursed with the armour of my resilience and the facade of my strength. Or is it the will to do nothing and stay so still and wait for death to realise all I am is a breathing corpse with a mind that works and a beating heart where flows a Crimson river inside my veins. But that doesn't make me alive now, does it? Of I am so alive why do I feel like a corpse? Why can I feel the maggots eating away my flesh and bones? Why can't I move and move away from what makes me feel like a corpse everyday? I am too sad, too emersed in the melancholy of the life I haven't lived- just merely existed in and somehow survived. So is my strength really a blessing or a curse in disguise?

I cannot tell.

[idontthinkithinkalot]

sirius who felt the life drain out of his body, who felt himself lose every bit of his soul and all he could do was watch remus' face as he fell through the veil.

[idontthinkithinkalot]

regulus who people watches and makes up terrible life stories about the people he sees,

"that one, he killed his wife and is on the run from the fbi" "the woman right there, she's wanted in twenty countries for fraud and has a side hustle of stealing hair from sleeping babies"

[idontthinkithinkalot]

SOBBED

barty is only fifteen but he knows he will hate his father for the rest of his life. he will hold that grudge the way his father should have held him. he will get to know hate the way his father never knew him.

barty wanted a father and he got a ghost, he got silence, he got nothing and how is that fair? he wants his father to love him and he hates how much he needs it.

he chokes on his anger and it tastes bitter but it feels like a promise that will never be broken. barty will hate his father for the rest of his life and he will hope all the same that maybe one day his father sees him. he just wants his fucking father.

"i loved you, i am your son. why couldn't you be my father?"

[idontthinkithinkalot]

Moony☹️</3

// the bite // a remus lupin post (rip my threads)

“pain can work from the outside in, i mean that sometimes what you see is pain. pain in its cruelest, purest form. without drugs or sleep or even shock or coma to dull it for you.

you see it and you take it in. and then it's you.

you’re the host to a long white worm that gnaws and eats, growing, filling your intestines until finally you cough one morning and up comes the blind pale head of the thing sliding from your mouth like a second tongue.”

remus does not remember the moment greyback's teeth made contact with his skin, but he remembers how it felt.

it felt as if he was split in two, and in a way he was. his life was his but it became someone else's. the before, and the after.

his room was destroyed and later on he found it fitting, he could never be a kid again, not after greyback.

are they one and the same? he tasted remus' blood and decided it too sweet to not taint. his skin too clean to not ruin.

what to do with the hunger deep in his stomach, the urge to be the monster he forced him to be.

the jealousy that stung his heart every time he saw a kid who was not forced to grow up too fast, that did not know just how bad life could get.

remus hates himself because for a moment, for less than a second, he comtemplates biting them. he wants to watch as someone else’s life falls through the cracks of desperation.

he is just a child, and he is not cruel. he is bitter as the night was when he was bit. because he was not even given a chance at life. what did he do? what did he do to deserve that?

perhaps greyback knew something he didn't, maybe he was always meant to be cursed.

[idontthinkithinkalot]

would i even know myself

[idontthinkithinkalot]

perhaps

now that it's been a year im not totally satisfied with this anymore but id not really written a sonnet for the fun of it before

ive vaguely mentioned in tags somewhere but i am also a plural system (undiagnosed dissociative disorder) and it was a particular person that wanted to write a sonnet to vent his romantic woes. anyway

[idontthinkithinkalot]

play pretend

Let’s play pretend,

Shall we?

Let’s pretend you never left,

We never stopped talking.

Let’s pretend you aren’t gone,

With your new group of friends.

Let’s pretend that I don’t sit alone at lunch everyday,

I don’t avoid your desperate glances. 

Let’s pretend you never hung up that day,

Maybe we’re still on the phone.

Let’s pretend you didn’t yell through the speaker,

You didn’t curse or freeze me out. 

Let’s pretend we’re still best friends,

We still hang out every Saturday morning.

Let’s pretend everything is okay,

Our friendship still shines in it’s glory.

[idontthinkithinkalot]

Love is a simple word for how I feel. She consumes me.

[idontthinkithinkalot]

being 5'7" is so fucked. AND i'm a top. i suffer more than you could ever know.

[idontthinkithinkalot]

Let me go

I did as I was told

I asked for nothing more

Followed their words

I did as I was told

But I wanted something more

Is it forbidden? I don't know

But I never whined; I never complained

I did everything on my own

Everything. On my own.

I begged for your support

My own blood

Kicked me down, on my knees

Scratched my skin

In the mirror, who do I see?

I dont belong to me

I never have

I probably will never be

Seasons change

I stay the same

You hold me back

Now I know, you know

Where do I go?

How do I go?

Let me go.

Please, let me go.

[idontthinkithinkalot]

That Funny Feeling

That funny feeling

It’s in my stomach again

My chest

I feel it everywhere

It crawls up my skin

And seeps into me

Writhing in my burning flesh

I feel it and it feels a lot like guilt

But it is not

I did nothing wrong

Did I?

It’s an all too familiar feeling

But one I do not care to befriend

It infects my mind with paranoia

Overthinking forever and always

Is this my life now?

If it is trying to invade my life

Like the Trojans in their giant horse

It is winning

It has won

Not one day goes by it doesn’t show up

To gloat

To haunt me

Taunting me with the possibility of

Maybe being normal

I guess in a way I am

This is my new normal

For this monster I couldn’t name for

The longest time has clawed its way

Inside my life

Inside my aching soul

That now begs for solace

Never receiving the relief it so desperately craves

Anxiety

That’s what they call it

We’ve gotten quite acquainted

Maybe I am a monster too.

[idontthinkithinkalot]

I saw the moon

And the moon saw me

Exactly as I was told

That this moment would be

I bless a friend

And I blessed me

And I blessed the moon

Like the old spell

That time passed to me

The moon sees my friend

Much more truthfully then i

Knows every secret

Knows every sign

Knows every moment

That they'd tried to hide

The moon watches closely

The moon guides them right

The moon will protect them

In the darkness of the night

The Moon song sung

By: Beelze