I don’t mind a lot of things these days, perhaps this is what they were right about when they told us how how “grown ups” lives were supposed to work: full of worries yet too numbing that you wouldn’t mind a lot of things

That could have left you in a catastrophic mood when you were tucked under the warmth of your grandparents old house that smelled of your childhood and illuminated with the morning glow

And that’s the moment that smacks you hard in the face, smearing reality all over your existence and leaving you with nothing but a silence that doesn’t sound like silence at all

And perhaps this is why I don’t mind a lot of things these days.

I ain’t never not scared

The list that could never end-

Haircuts, falling asleep, statues, not graduating high school, hospitals, people who walk with full speed towards automatic sliding doors with no hesitation, low rise jeans, Wednesdays, the relentless fungi that keeps growing in my fish tank, the movie E.T., the kids with mullets, eating too slow on a date, never getting out of this town, dividing fractions, going home, decorating for Christmas, that one corner in my room, thunder storms, I can’t believe it’s not butter- butter, my mom, going blind, my grandmas dolls, my brother never growing up, giving up and just becoming a housewife, keyboards that don’t make any typing sounds, people who don’t like yard sells, the kid that didn’t know the lead singer of Jackson five was Michael Jackson, rouge shopping carts, broken mirrors, that one jump scare in Zootopia that had no right, hotdogs at gas stations, monopoly, the creepy fish at cabalas, etc. etc.


After all this time I am wandering back home, a place where faces are familiar

But everything else is not,

I spell my name in broken letters as I walk towards what’s left behind. The letters keep slipping and I’m forgetting what I am called

This home, this time, is a different place and there’s only one thing left, I am walking towards a building that I heard people call nostalgia

blue ticket

(blood rushing)

It feels like every cell in my body is moving so fast that my veins are blurry, that despite the constant rhythm of my heart beat. inside my ears its like listening to a spastic drum line. It feels like bee’s are in my ears, like a broken white noise machine playing all the sounds at once. And I don’t even realize I’m grinding my teeth or rubbing my fourth finger against my pinky or twisting my rings around my fingers. Holding unto myself like I’m the only life line bridging the gap between reality on my own two feet and the atomically loud obis of noises and sounds and feelings of fleeing rushing threw my veins. I avoid eye contact not because I’m not listening to what your’e saying, but because I’m listening to my own voice hoping that through your ears you cant hear that it’s two octaves too high and I’m on the verge of breaking. Because my palms are sweating and I somehow forget to speak with anything behind my words other than insecurity. It feels like fire, unexplainably hot and frustrating as I naw on the inside of my cheek as if the solution to this feeling is buried between my teeth and gums. It feels like drowning and burning and forever. I imagine my feet moving with trails of dust behind them. Like those cartoons because somehow it feels like I’m moving faster then the 60 seconds they allowed in a minute. All the while I’m just playing catch-up on the stop watch. It doesn’t add up like it did in mathematics, I can’t carry the one and find the square root of the problem. because most of the time there is no problem, there is no life or death situation or a reason. Theres just feelings and I’m feeling them all at once.