projectcatharsis - Tumblr blog

[projectcatharsis]

The poison is deeply rooted in my soul. I can’t get rid of it. It pulses and flows through my blood as easy as it does through any normal man’s veins. Maybe a transfusion could fix this anomaly and make me better. Knowing my luck, it will leave nothing but a bloated corpse unable to wake. No—its better I should continue this way. Knowing, I’m the problem. Life is much easier when you realize you’re the villain.

[projectcatharsis]

When you’re writing and you start crying for your characters because you’re like, “Damn bro, sorry I wrote these plot points for you but it had to happen to someone.”

[projectcatharsis]

A Doll’s Life 08/08/2022

They only want us when we’re pretty.

Cheeks like rosy apples.

Smiles welcoming and warm.

They only want us when we’re naive.

Something to mold in their creation.

To break, if necessary.

Remake;

Throw away;

Give away.

They only like us when we’re silently compliant.

Never too loud.

Always just right.

Not a toe out of line.

We’re only worth something when they find value in us.

So remember to smile brighter.

Eat less.

Laugh more.

Be what they demand you to be.

[projectcatharsis]

Accidentally just deleted my Like Ash poem.

Will repost later.

[projectcatharsis]

Forest Fire 12/06/2010

I’ve always wanted to start a forest fire,

So then maybe I’d be able to feel something,

If anything…,

Because being with you takes everything from me.

So burn forest,

Burn.

Crackle,

Pop,

And burn.

So that I may feel again.

[projectcatharsis]

Is This Madness 05/02/2011

In the dark is where I contemplate

And think of past mistakes.

Is this madness in which I lay awake,

Or am I yet again commonplace,

Too young to understand,

But too old to not try and care?

Blinking these hollow hears away,

Which now from cheek to my pillow.

I question:

Is this the madness of my mind

Recreating what should have been,

Or am I yet again nothing but a shadow on a wall

Staring now into your soul…

But do you see me there?

And as this shadow I will talk,

Becoming nothing more than a commonplace fear.

Contemplating what should have been…

…Is this madness?

[projectcatharsis]

Guess who found there very first laptop today?

Prepare.

For.

The.

Cringe.

[projectcatharsis]

I painted a picture

[projectcatharsis]

Peace and Quiet 9/11/21

There is a place I know

I dreamt of it long ago

Soft muted colors

Warm ambient noises

Drowning in contentment

Watching the bubbles go up

Knowing this would not last forever

Sitting at the bottom of this pool

I would eventually be pulled out

Forced to the top

“You’re not allowed to hold your breath that long.”

“You scared us all shitless!”

“Don’t you ever do that again.”

Words being thrown around at high and heavy paces

Tiny hands cover small ears

Maybe I’ll hear them

But for a moment I know They care

For a moment I feel at home.

[projectcatharsis]

The Taste of Suave Strawberry Shampoo

3/18/2021

How do you forget the bad things that happen to you?

I don’t know how, but honestly,

I don’t want to forget.

Not in the vain that these memories “make me stronger,”

As many cliched individuals attempt to expound,

While silently mourning under the false venier of strength.

No.

In a since, I'm able to retain a part of me,

Small and vulnerable.

I can remember how outrageously happy I was to be alive.

Knowing I was going far,

Regardless the obstacles in my way--

Childhood naivety that helps me empathize.

Roots me back down to the Earth.

Reminds me despite how odd or weird I may seem,

I am human.

People can see me.

I am more than the walls I’ve built, and,

Sometimes,

You will see me too.

[projectcatharsis]

Sink Life 9/14/2015

Sometimes, the most intimidating thing can be blank sheet of paper,

Or in this case, a blank Google Doc.

Where do you start when you have no clue what to write?

It is almost a daunting task, but we do it anyway.

We start to push and press the buttons beneath our fingers,

And make the words trapped in our minds flow out,

Like a faucet that has been left dripping droplets of water.

Nothing too fast but certainly not to slow,

But it drips an annoying sound that urges us to fix it,

And it seems the only way that can be done is to write it down.

But what do we want to say?

It should be so easy,

Like fixing the loose pipe under the sink,

But all you end up doing it causing more damage.

The small droplets now seep out and pour in an uncontrollable manner.

A professional should have been called to fix this issue.

But when it is such a private and deeply rooted issue,

Vested in our emotional and mental stability,

How can a stranger really know how to fix the broken mechanics at hand?

They’ll only know how to fix the cosmetic issues.

They’ll stop the faucet from leaking for the time being but the issue,

Like most,

Will wear and at some point leak again;

It needs to be replaced.

But you can’t replace life.

You are stuck with the hand you are dealt,

And like a broken and old sink sometimes it just can’t be fixed completely.

You’ll leak and make weird noises when used,

And some people will be turned off by you.

They’ll go use the new kitchen sink before using you because:

You’re old;

Dirty;

A little rusty;

With bad water pressure;

And when you are used,

You start to leak again and no one knows how to fix it.

So people avoid you.

Some people won’t get it.

The leaks of the emotions you try to keep in.

So instead you stare at a blank document,

Until you put these raw feelings on paper.

On anything that is willing to hear you,

Because those that use you don’t want to fix you after they’re done.

They just wanted the brief utility of you.

No one ever wants to keep an old sink.

[projectcatharsis]

Bootstraps 10/26/2020

So it was always just about the money, wasn’t it?

It must be lonely thinking that the love you give is the same you receive: expected and burdened with price.

Because, it’s gotta be about money, right?

So you push and prod and you make sure everyone knows how great you’ve done.

But you weren’t born of wealth.

No.

No one is from this family.

So you push and you prod at your kids to do as you did.

Because it’s about the bottomline, right?

The status you’ve acquired.

They can’t be less than what you’ve made them up to be—

To take a step back down—

To those steps back to poverty you grew up in—

That would be an insult—

A very embarrassment to your name.

So you push and you prod and fixate on an image of perfection and hide behind a false religion.

You scoff at others with mental illness while shaming your own children for having the same issues you refuse to acknowledge—

Passing off a facade of perfection to stroke an ego so fragile it’s easy to see it’s nothing but broken pieces held together with passive-aggressive platitudes, feigning interest only to spread gossip and misinformation for your own sick enjoyment.

Expecting love as some form of payment,

Wondering why your so lonely on holidays,

When everyone else already knows the answer.

Sometimes you have to clean the mirror to see your reflection. Other times, you have to wash the bullshit off your face. Right now, I’m seeing a lot of bullshit.

And sometimes you’ve got to remember, you can’t buy your way into Heaven either. God and the white Jesus you admire of so much, are pretty ashamed of the Christian you pretend to be.

So I’ll ask you. Why’s it always about the money? Because it seems pretty fucking lonely to me.

[projectcatharsis]

My Effigy to You 06/25/2020

This is my effigy to you.

Sunken.

Downtrodden.

Defeated.

Nothing but a sad man,

Pretending to a leader most capable and wise.

But always the cracks are showing.

To the twist of the knots,

From the looks and the stares,

We don’t have to wonder.

This husk of what you use to be or what you could have been.

A concept we can only see hope in,

And yet you writhe from that light,

Hiding from all that could see the good in your soul,

The wit in your brain,

And love in your heart.

You play pretend that these aren’t your true attributes,

And hide in that husk of an excuse of a man.

One day I hope you may be brave,

and embrace those most vulnerable parts of you.

[projectcatharsis]

Peacocks 05/20/2021

It’s all so arbitrary.

The songs and dances we must do to survive.

The contracts we must sign in order to be considered capable and living.

Only to know you’re like a potted plant,

Stuck in the same old soil,

Roots that can’t grow from those tiny confide,

Reliant on someone to occasionally give you water,

To remember what you’re living for—

But most of the time it’s dry and cheap dirt,

Never stirred or given a new—

Just compliantly waiting for the validation of someone.

Maybe they’ll appreciate me.

And when you get down to it,

There should be more to life than slaving away at dead end nothings,

Preening for the praise of others,

To make an income others will envy,

To wait so expectedly during asinine interviews,

To be asked, “What super power would you choice and why?”

When that question is so inconsequential to the job at hand,

But always remember the answer:

“Teleportation; so I can get away from here.”

A light hearted chuckle should be received and like wise envy for interviewers who hadn’t thought of that answer themselves.

You’ll smile.

You’ll preen.

You’ll be exactly what they need, because they do hold the water.

They have the money after all.

But in the end, you’ll have to stop and wonder:

What was any of it worth?

What’s the price of your self-conscious?

[projectcatharsis]

Home is such a foreign concept to me because I have moved so many times.

My mother would explain how lucky I was—how easy the high school and college entrance letters would be, with a story like mine. Eight states, one twice; all those places and experiences. Practically an adult in a teen’s body.

From one place to another—watching my power executive, single-parent, mother strive, breaking glass ceilings and all that comes with it—but none of these were homes. And when I’d ask my mother, “what about home?”

She would respond. “Home is where your mother is!”

Mortified, I’d figured that couldn’t possibly be true.

To be honest, the only home I’ve ever known is the skin attached to my bones.

I still cope knowing home is just me and will always just be me.

“i used to live there” is such a sad phrase. seeing places u used to live in is an odd thing. It’s like ‘i know where the best hiding place is in there. my bedroom was the one directly to the left as you walk in. i took my first steps on that flooring. i used to play in that yard with my grandma. she died two years ago. that was the only place i ever knew. those walls contain all of my childhood memories. i can no longer go there, but i know every corner like the back of my hand.’

[projectcatharsis]

I don’t mean to be a fragile person but I’m the porcelain doll my mama wanted—

So easily broken and hard to fix.

It as though all my paint has chipped away.

I used to be prized and cherished,

A treasure that couldn’t be misplaced.

But after one small break—

A crack from the perfection—

I find myself with the trash.

The weight of everything crashing down causes fractures that can’t be fixed.

The deafening silence of being trapped in that suffocating bag.

Confined with bitter thoughts of loneliness and unmistakable shame.

The age of question comes to mind:

‘Is it better to love or have never loved at all?’

Enmeshed in my new surrounding,

The latter seems to be the obvious option.

But how could I know it was love,

If it could be taken away so easily?

A conditional contract,

I didn’t know I signed.

Where—

No matter what,

I lose.

MW 04/2022

[projectcatharsis]

fiction is like im going to totally make up a guy and we’re going to get emotional about their plight and their grief and their joy and this is because we are human