spicdcinnamonc4k3

[spicdcinnamonc4k3]

People are so overwhelming.

Some people are so *much*, and as a result I often fear that I am not enough. Why am I constantly overwhelmed? Why can't I, for once, be the one doing the overwhelming?

[spicdcinnamonc4k3]

Fairy Houses

When I was little, I used to gather sticks and rocks and build tiny houses at the bases of trees. They were for the fae. Moss and acorns served as furniture, and tiny rock pools were constructed as water sources.

I am at an age where I should no longer affiliate with the fae, although I still make these houses just in case- a win-win as I see it, whatever small creature needs a home for the night gets it, and I manage to sneak some whimsy into the mundane of the every day.

[spicdcinnamonc4k3]

Knowing that if i want to be loved I must first make myself lovable- this nasty depressive state offers no viable conditions for love to thrive. My messy, cluttered room and unhealthy body can neither accept nor offer love and so my mind continues to suffer, longing for a craving that can not be fixed unless it first mends the physical vessel in which it is enslaved.

Sometimes I wonder how much I would be able to grow, yet I am constrained by time, physics, and worst of all, biology. My mind yearns to love and learn but my body refuses to move. Irony has taken me by storm for I am an athlete, my body is my pride and joy, and like a bike in the rain I have irresponsibly left myself to rust until I become nothing but useless.

My muscles hurt, my gut screams, my face sullen, and I continue to rot. The hope inside of me burns like a tiny candle but its' light is overshadowed by the great monster that chains me to my bed. The monster feeds on nothing but junk, and is allergic to water, showering, and healthy social interaction. The only way to defeat it is love, but as previously stated, the monster offers no room for love to propagate- so I must battle, my brain as my weapon. My body as my shield that can either protect or trap me. How will I escape? How will I live? How could the monster possibly be defeated- the monster being myself?

[spicdcinnamonc4k3]

bronwyn: i have a bad feeling about this…

nate: what do you mean?

cooper: like that little voice in your head that says “this is a bad idea,” you know?

addy: no.

nate: no.

bronwyn: unfortunately this explains a lot

[spicdcinnamonc4k3]

I am frustrated because I cannot speak

I can not explain myself articulately enough to sound intelligent, though I am in excess- I am by no means a meticulously gifted student nor a prodigy, but have been blessed/cursed with some common sense; enough to be bamboozled by the idiocy that surrounds me on the daily.

My mind races with chemical processes that I learn for school or with the thoughts I have on the books I read, and seldom do people ask "what's on your mind?" and I always relish the opportunity to empty my brain- though lately I have not been able to.

I haven't written anything in a long while. I'm a stickler for jargon and a fanatic about literature. Nobody talks about the frustration of being a well-read individual in a technological age, where it seems that nobody can tell 'your' from 'you're'.

I'm not gifted, I'm not talented, I read too much and I struggle in my classes that I already worked my ass off for- my vocabulary is vast and my thoughts complex and yet my tongue betrays me, forcibly strapping a mask that hides all I want to say. Like a piece of tape on a letter I feel like I would rip apart should I try to force it off my lips.