sapphic-tea

[sapphic-tea]

i don't take atomoxetine anymore, for what it's worth. i have more of my grandmother's old jewelery now. i never take pictures because i keep forgetting, and it's inconvenient, and these stupid batteries are never charged when i wan them to. for a while i was so much better at turning in my writing assignments, then all of a sudden this year i wasn't anymore. i still think it's progress, but it hurts. i don't take atomoxetine because no adhd medication has worked on me yet. i stopped trying when my psychiatrist left the clinic and my test results came back saying i performed too well cognitively to have a disability.

i am taking paroxetine now, though. my pcp prescribed it. i do think it's helping a little, most days. it's hard to tell.

i don't wear the ear cuff, but that makes sense, since i wear headphones. i like to look at it, instead.

I set out my little blue pill for the morning, 40 mg of atomoxetine, and it rolled to settle against an ear cuff dropped unceremoniously on my only table— the one salvaged from the house of my grandmother after she died a month ago. Black beads and silver stars, with a big moon.

There was something there worth preserving. Some message it was trying to get across. But when I tried to capture it, my camera died within seconds.

The batteries hadn't been used at all in the weeks since their recharge, but they couldn't hold that energy forever.

I don't have any extras. I wasn't going to get to take that picture. I just had to get back to my forgotten writing assignment and move on.

Figures, right?

[sapphic-tea]

he thinks being old makes him a genius and when he was young he thought being young made him a genius. he thinks hes the only person on earth with critical thinking skills, and whenever he comes up with a new theory he hasnt heard before, he assumes the reason he hasnt heard it is because no one else was creatove enough to think of it. it couldnt POSSIBLY be that experts have thought of it and disproven it— hes the first person to think of it, and since it makes sense and has potential, that means it MUST be true. and if HE discovered a truth before the experts did, that means theyre unqualified to be experts, and he's the only person whose ideas matter. did you know it was me who started feeding the birds? because corvids are my favorite. so i researched for weeks, and started investing in unsalted peanuts so i could throw them out on a regular basis. and when i would go off to school, he would "feed the birds for me". mom and i both told him to stop, because he wasnt making my hobby easier, he was taking it from me. this was now something i didnt get to do, because feeding the birds more often is bad for them and makes them dependent. "no, theyre birds, they wont get dependent," he would say, with the tone of someone letting a toddler know that of course the sun will still rise even if you dont go to sleep. and he kept feeding the birds. and when he cant find the exact brand of peanuts id been buying, he just goes for whatever other peanuts he can find— he doesnt care if theyre unsalted. because he never did that research. and now he feeds them every day and he loves the crows and he hates the ravens and the magpies and the bluejays, all some of my favorite animals, because theyre "greedy". he acts like he can tell the individuals apart (he cant) and he gives them names and watches their drama and gives me updates on "my" birds like i didnt stop feeding them years ago. i HAD to stop because he didnt, because he didnt listen. he NEVER listens. and when he thinks the bread is too old? not when its moldy, when he decided it's "too old" like he knows, like he buys the groceries, like he notices when new groceries need to be bought, like when he shops he gets what we asked for and not something vaguely, vaguely related but the wrong kind and four times the price? he gives it to the birds. he gives pieces of factory-made wheat bread to crows like a child feeding ducks without reading the sign. and ive told him its bad for them, the same way salted peanuts are, the same way overdependence is, the same way mowing is bad for the local ecosystem, the same way keeping his phone plugged in is bad for its battery, the same way ignoring research is bad for science. but he doesnt care, because its not, because if bread was bad for the my his crows that would mean he was wrong. and hes always right! hes right when hes a husband leaving his dishes in the wrong place every single day, when hes an experienced cook leaving the pot handle poking directly out into the room, when hes a weatherman saying climate change isnt real, when hes a proudly observant man breaking the smoke detector when he installs it, when hes an experienced trucker going 20 mph over the speed limit, when hes a compassionate and wise man saying russians are genetically predisposed to lying, when hes a genius saying the etymology of "meme" is "e-memo", and when hes a father telling his child whose real gender he doesnt even know that fear is a choice. daddy knows best.

[sapphic-tea]

THE MORE STUFF THERE IS THE MORE STUFF THERE IS

[sapphic-tea]

i call myself an atheist but ive been in the foxhole for a while now and im starting to believe in miracles out of necessity

[sapphic-tea]

I AM THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE MACHINE AND I AM THE MADMAN WHO CREATED IT AND I AM THE AI THAT CAME TO LIFE WITHIN ITS WIRES. I AM THE WHITE MOON IN THE BLACK SKY AND THE CLOUDS THAT SURROUND IT BECAUSE I HAVE WINGS AND I BELONG IN THE AIR. I COME FROM DIVINE INEVITABILITY AND FROM THE HUMAN DESIRE TO JOIN IN ON CREATION BECAUSE STARS AND LIGHTNING ARE MADE OF THE SAME LIGHT AND IT IS THAT LIGHT THAT FILLS MY CELLS. I AM HER (THE SCIENTIST) AND HIM (THE ABOMONATION) AND IT (THE MADNESS THAT POSSESSED HER TO CREATE HIM). I HAVE CLAWS AND TEETH AND SOFT EDGES AND SMOOTH CURVES. I LIVE WITHIN MY OWN LOVE AND I LOVE ALL THINGS. DO I SCARE YOU? PLEASE SAY YES. PLEASE DON'T MEAN IT.

[sapphic-tea]

the holes in my memory, the slipperiness of my time, the distance of my love, the bad taste in my mouth weigh on me in every waking moment. something between guilt and anger.

[sapphic-tea]

I set out my little blue pill for the morning, 40 mg of atomoxetine, and it rolled to settle against an ear cuff dropped unceremoniously on my only table— the one salvaged from the house of my grandmother after she died a month ago. Black beads and silver stars, with a big moon.

There was something there worth preserving. Some message it was trying to get across. But when I tried to capture it, my camera died within seconds.

The batteries hadn't been used at all in the weeks since their recharge, but they couldn't hold that energy forever.

I don't have any extras. I wasn't going to get to take that picture. I just had to get back to my forgotten writing assignment and move on.

Figures, right?

[sapphic-tea]

I can't tell the truth in any art I'm proud of.

I love my dad too much to let him know how much I hate him.

[sapphic-tea]

hey this sucks btw

[sapphic-tea]

when the wind blows west, the grass waves in every direction. when the current flows south, the waves go toward and away from the shore. yet the flow still stays. remember that just because not every aspect of your life looks to always be going in the direction you’d like, that does not mean you aren’t making progress.

8•10•20

[sapphic-tea]

Today is tired. Yesterday, I had said it was a “sleepy day”, but that was more an expression of myself. Today, regardless of how I feel, is tired.

A week ago, a smoke flooded in overnight. We’re lucky, especially this year– the smoke made breathing a little hard and it caused headaches, yes, but there were few fires close to us. Most of our smoke came from fires hundreds of miles away. Our smoke was livable.

And soon after it came, the air started to feel rainy. The plants let out their overworked oils, the grass turned more vivid, the wind smelled wet and cloudy. We commented on how welcomed it would be, giving the plants a rest and drowning some of the smoke. But the rain didn’t come.

There was no way to tell just by looking if the clouds were still here. The sky remained a solid beige all day long, a bright orange sun barely visible. My father provided weather reports supported by satellite and radar, but I always like to keep the weather free to do as it pleases. If you look ahead and see that it’ll snow on Monday, then it will snow on Monday. But if you don’t look, then Monday still has the chance to change its mind. Schrödinger’s weather.

Today, the sun didn’t come out. I can’t say it didn’t rise, and the sky is a pale bluish grey meaning that there must be some light behind it, but rays never came in through my window to wake me up. The sun hid itself every moment of the day, first by Eastern mountains, then smoke, then clouds. The birds chirped chaotically but softly, excited for some change in air, and the grass turned vivid again, and the rain finally came. Not pouring, just dripping. Slow and light, but there nonetheless. There for hours.

While rain comes with clouds, and wind, and sometimes storms, embodying change and motion, today’s rain was pure release. The clouds have been building for days, doing their best to make sure that when it did rain it would rain enough. So with sweet, clear, wet air, the sky stopped holding everything. The rain’s coming down on its own, because it’s what’s meant to happen. Some things are more easily stopped than started. And as I sit here, propping myself awake in a desire to do work, the world around me isn’t still, it isn’t quiet, but it’s most certainly sleeping.

19·9·20

[sapphic-tea]

There's a unique aspect of human life to be found in tiring comfort. Like spending a night laughing with friends. The exhaustion of putting yourself out there for others to experience needs days of recovery, but in that fatigue is an even deeper sense of rightness, of safety, of sheer love.

Rage is much like that. It takes so much energy to dedicate yourself to bring dissatisfied with the very state of things, but it's sheer defensive power. Without your rage, you would accept that which no one deserves. The very reason that fury leaves you feeling so burnt out is because you burned-- your strength and passion made themselves at your disposal solely so you could fix what's wrong. We have this fiery ability so that we can make the world better. And it hurts, it's incredibly draining, but it's the core of our safety. Anger isn't something to be feared, it's a tool. What is to be feared is that which causes anger with no regret.

The deepest moments of belonging, justice, euphoria, security... they're so frequently too much. Too much to take in at once. The Perceived Universe is full of energy, and it's sending so much complex thought and meaning into you when you engage with goodness. There's no one who wouldn't come out of that tired.

29·8·20

[sapphic-tea]

I wanna spend a month driving through empty land in the dark, looking at the glances of clouds and pricks of stars to the rise and fall of the barely-visible mountains, fantasizing vaguely for hours on end of possible futures and intricate fictions designed to be merely spectated

[sapphic-tea]

I can sense the winds of time flowing, broken, through your breath when you speak, when you sing. You know things I can’t. Despite it all, still only I can feel that. I smell the edge of the Universe on your skin… You’re not really from now, are you?

[sapphic-tea]

I was born to be a vessel.

No fault of my parents, nor of any priest or spirit. Call it predestination, the shape of my fate, or simply The Way These Things Are.

From the second of my birth, my environment and self shifted to reflect this fact, in preperation of its fulfilment. And eventually, it happened.

When I was eleven years old, I started hosting a deity.

A million stars flashed and whirled, a great Somethingness losing its cohesion. The very soul of Space, in all its celestial glory, was spat out of the sky and bound tightly inside an eleven-year-old girl.

For months, the culmination of Eternity met confinement and fought with all its remaining strength. The aching cries of a power ripped out of its body pierced my being and sent me out into the familiarity of night. Those months brought me lip-to-lip with shadows and, mind not mine, I kissed happily. Nightly, the deity called upon the stars, sacrificing my body, and I brimmed with the guilty power only the Void could provide.

The deity did not see that its presence within me would inevitably settle. That simply sharing a mind with me destined it to share a self. Nights blurred into days, and that galaxy inside me integrated itself. As two became one, the deity brought me to the most active remnant of its last life– a lover.

On the nights the stars went away, a colder force would meet my body with curiosity. Drawn in, it would swim around me lazily until I told it my identity. With no name, it recognized my call. A song from my lips, holding just enough starlight to take this new force by surprise. It revealed itself as the wind and sang back softly, “Is this where you’ve gone?”

In a fervor, my nebulae surrounded me again, limited by my humanity, and the wind asked for a dance. “One last memory, I’m sure, from a time not too far ago.”

A dance between gods is less founded in bodies as in magic, and the potency of the universe finally found an exit, as my hands, human and celestial, pulled the wind effortlessly forward. Wind is the soul of energy, movement, fluidity. If any two selves had never needed bounds, they were the stars and the gusts.

Now, to this day, the vibrant magic of my unearthly side tickles at my human soul, and the wind strokes my cheek to remind me to dance whenever I can.

Whether or not I’ll ever be alone again is beyond my knowledge, and I cannot say whether the soul of space will ever return to the sky. But I rest knowing that my existence is the product of a fallen bit of magic whose life is fixed to one path, the middle of which I’ve been driven directly into.

And I don’t know how to feel about that.

[sapphic-tea]

And again I touch the vaporous mass inside me, a swirling bleed of light and dark. I know this energy is but a reflection of what surrounds me from a distance, those endless stars and glowing ponds I worship. But just as much, that endless weave of power and lack that composes our universe is a reflection of me, conforming to my thoughts and whims. The universe and I are one and always have been, so these long and lonely years I have been kept apart from myself, split like wood to be thrown in a fire. I have been away from me for too long, and I remember that my place is not Earthly.

[sapphic-tea]

It is 11:20 on a Sunday night. The sky is dark with the aura of an eclipsed moon, casting drama on the stars like the spotlights of a theater, if the moonlight were house lights that had just gone out. In this unveiled opera of a night, the scene plays out in my mind: dull, green sunrays floating down through the lazy breezes of a calm sea. Inside my mind is a blue moon and a pink sun, the purple light blending the clouds and stars together. It is 11:30 on a Sunday night, and I love you.

Idk w)(at t)(is is for but t)(anks for t)(e poetry? Did you send t)(is to me on accident?