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My motivation has been lost.

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The Red Poppy

by Louise Glück

The great thing is not having a mind. Feelings: oh, I have those; they govern me. I have a lord in heaven called the sun, and open for him, showing him the fire of my own heart, fire like his presence. What could such glory be if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters, were you like me once, long ago, before you were human? Did you permit yourselves to open once, who would never open again? Because in truth I am speaking now the way you do. I speak because I am shattered.

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I remember going through a restless night. As the sun was peaking at me, I remember it was 4am and I could not sleep. And I was telling myself that I am over it (Over and over) But I find that I am not over it. I am not over it at all And I'm not over you. I realize I could never be over you.

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in the future i don’t have to wish anymore

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I just really wish I wasn’t the way I am. Everything for everyone would be a lot easier if I was just a different person. I need to be erased from everybody’s lives. I wish I could delete everyone’s view of me right now, of how they see me right now. I wish I could meet everyone again in a different way, in a better way, as a better person. I wish I could start over as a person. And create myself into someone more positive, more social and more loving. I am so tired of being the way I am. It feels like no matter how hard I try I always gravitate back to the self-nihilistic and cynical person that I am. Will I ever become who I see myself as in my head?

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When you speak, does your tongue ever feel heavy? Does your tongue ever weigh you down with every word you try to utter out? When you speak, does your breath ever lose its consistency? Does your breath ever feel thin? When you speak, does your voice break at every syllable? Does your voice seem to turn into small whispers through the air? When you speak, does your tongue, your breath, and your voice ever feel like they are in a constant battle with one another? Like if they are little kids fighting to go first on the slide at the park? When you speak, does it feel like it took everything you had just to stutter out a sentence?

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Everyone says happy is a decision but the way my mind works, it feels more like a struggled endeavor.

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To find someone who makes you feel special, who thinks you’re a good person, who wants to help you to be happy… Despite it all. Despite how you always bring yourself down and always talk about your self-crippling sadness. Despite how you never know what to say and never quite learned how it all started. And yet, he’s still here. And he still thinks you’re special and he still thinks you’re a good person, and he still wants to make you happy. When does someone like that ever come around again?

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The Thing Is

by Ellen Bass

to love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it and everything you’ve held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, your throat filled with the silt of it. When grief sits with you, its tropical heat thickening the air, heavy as water more fit for gills than lungs; when grief weights you like your own flesh only more of it, an obesity of grief, you think, How can a body withstand this? Then you hold life like a face between your palms, a plain face, no charming smile, no violet eyes, and you say, yes, I will take you I will love you, again.

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I came dragging myself to you in tears. My legs, my stomach, numb from the intensity of my running. (soft pink fuzzy feeling) And the four in the morning Night sky started caving in, showering down his four in the morning night stars. You held me in your strong arms, caressing my hair as we both sway
side to side. We were outside and it was cold but I didn’t feel cold. You invited me into your house. I whispered, “I can’t” in your ear. (soft pink fuzzy feeling) You asked me, “Aren’t you cold?” And I asked you, “Aren’t you afraid of warmth? Aren’t you afraid of feeling? Aren’t you afraid of the warmth of feeling?” I turned away. My trembling fingers reached into my leather jacket pocket. I grabbed my lighter and I light a cigarette. I breathed in almost half of it, swallowing in the self inflicting pain. (soft pink fuzzy feeling) I stare at you as you try to decipher my questions to which made no sense to me whatsoever anymore. I let out the longest breath I’ve ever held. My tears started to return and they came in rivers. My face becoming hot as I try to squeeze in my tears. The butt of the cigarette reached its end. I let out a soprano wheeze. 
I burnt my lips. I could see you didn’t know what to do. Your forehead started to crease and your brows started to narrow. You grabbed my shoulders and held me closer to you. (soft pink fuzzy feeling) My mind started to scramble for words to explain to you the contradictory way I sometimes feel like dying but I sometimes feel like staying alive. I only managed to let out mutters of sounds. Which were immediately silenced with the warmth of your kiss. You kissed me and my mind went blank. My legs, my stomach, no longer numb.

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When the moon is at her highest, All I want is to go to the ocean and cry to her waves. I want her waves to grab my frail, shaking body and pull me close into them. Closer and closer into the darkness and depth of them. As I shake, I want them to whisper all of the ocean’s secrets into my ears as I fall asleep. And when I start crying I want the ocean to reel me deeper into her, like all of her past lovers, erasing all of the destruction in my mind. I want the salt water to burn away at my worries turning them into specks of gold, dissolving them into the sand. I want the ocean to wrap me up entirely and never let me go.

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I feel I could really fall in love with you.

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So often lately I have been daydreaming of my death. This obsession and this infatuation of dying is all that's been on my mind so often lately. And so often lately all I want is to simply die. I throw around the word "die" like if it was the first word I was taught to choke out. Like if the word "die" is something casual to say. Like if some people's hearts don't race when I say it. Like if some people's hands don't tremble when I say it. Like if it wasn't something someone had to once face again and again so often. I throw the word "die" around and for what? At this point, do I genuinely want to die or do I want someone to finally notice the way my brain doesn't function properly? Do I want someone to finally notice how much I'm suffering mentally? We all cry out for help in different ways; I choose to fall in love with Death and cry about how he's treating me to a deaf audience.

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Underneath the fluorescent, hot pink lights, I am laying down with some friends and we are staring up at them. They are all talking and laughing and taking videos. I join the laughter and the mindless conversation that I can't remember of now. The hot pink lights flicker into an electric blue haze and I immediately feel the way the first tear comes out of your right eye when you try your hardest not to cry. I feel the way you yearn for the ocean sometimes so you can melt into its waves. I feel the way you want to leave but you stay anyway because you know if you leave you'll regret it later. I feel the way you feel lost when you think about your future and your romantic relationship and your friends and your life. I feel the way you feel. Underneath the flickers of the electric blue haze I am laying down by myself now. My friends have left and I am feeling. Mindless conversations and laughter I can't remember of now.

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Things are getting all a little bit too much lately. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to feel anymore. I don't know why I'm here anymore. I don't know, I don't know anything anymore. Things are all a bit too much.

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After all this, I don't think I was meant for love. To love and to be loved. I don't know how to love. I make it hard for people to love me. I know love exists but I don't think it was meant for me.

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Winter is warm.