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The Sound of Grace

@teachuswhatwelack / teachuswhatwelack.tumblr.com

An endless conversation with a faithful friend. Nala. 23. Angst personified. Living in the upside down. Not really on here, ever. Rochester, NY. ISTJ.
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logged in on here out of boredom today. Looked at a few of my old selfies i posted on here. learned something.

according to my posts from then, and where i am now, life doesn’t get better. it gets worse.

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teachuswhatwelack

Whoops.

I’m not going to write a poem about it.

Nope. 

I refuse.

I don’t want to do it.

I know that if I let these feelings out, I’ll be a wreck for the day.

So here I am, 

trying to save me from myself.

I know that if I even get a thought onto paper,

it will spiral

out of

control.

No

I won’t right a poem about it.

Because in that poem, I

will revisit every thought I’ve had.

I

will remember the good times,

ironically,

and burn with confusion at the idea of the delusion that I

thought was real.

I’d remember the hope, 

and revisit the other poems I wrote

in the hopes

of seeing an amazing end.

But that’s not how the story ends.

If I even think of a title, 

I’ll talk about how I felt idle,

and remember my endeavor for us to even be together.

THAT FRICKIN’ SMILE.

I can never forget it.

Wow.

Good thing I won’t write a poem

about how you were disgusted with who I really was.

Independence, and joy are totally turnoffs–

I see where you were coming from.

Good thing I’m not going to talk about or think about that rejection.

I’m not even angry, I’m just confused at what happened to you

to me

to our friend.

Good thing I’m not bringing it up.

That was a close one.

#finding old poems
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teachuswhatwelack

I’m Dreaming of You Again

It’s been a long time since you’ve come to mind. We’ve both been occupied with other loves.

In between, we’ve joked of the possibility of us. You think it no longer crosses my mind, but it does.

Just think: what if we were more than eye candy? More than ideas, than friends, than “buzz”?

What if we can become something that is, inspired by a passion that was?

In all honesty, I’m being selfish. I want you for your love, but also for your lips. I want your eyes to (on me) be fixed.

Your physicality is not off of my list.

But I know I must choose love over lust - stay calm, and be still. I’m dreaming of you again.

#finding my poems
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Denied

On April 28th, I tried to be normal again because I assume that at one point in my life, I was normal. Maybe for 1 or 2 years, tops.

But my insurance company told me no.  I was outside of its scope of reach - that’s fine. Honestly, I’m still under my mom’s insurance, and I only really ever care to see a doctor whenever I somehow wind up in an emergency room for some ridiculous occurrence. 

But I wanted to be normal again.  I wanted to go a day without hating myself, or fruitlessly fighting against my underlying belief that my life was a burden, or wishing I was in a coma so I wouldn’t have to deal with the present, or planning lofty goals that I’d never have enough energy to achieve, or letting myself be taken advantage of, or staying silent when I should probably say something.

But I drove away from my would-have-been psychiatrist, blaring my music to block out my thoughts, and stop me from screaming. Who needs to scream when someone else is already doing it for you? I put on my sunglasses because man, was the sun bright today. It almost seemed like it was melting my eyes, turning them into a partial liquid form. I tried to sing along, but my jaw kept shaking for some odd reason.

I kept on my sunglasses even though there were scattered clouds.

I didn’t want the world to see me crying. I just didn’t want the clouds to know. I didn’t want the sun to see that it wasn’t good enough for me.

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