Sunday, June 11, 2017


Click above to play/pause accompanied post music.

Dear friend,

It's June 2017. Summer.

Friends are back from college,
I'm someone's girlfriend now.
I have a social life,
I finally came out at work.
I'm working on another film,
I'm making enough money to move out.
I'm starting to love who I am,
I'm starting to look like who I am.

So why am I still so damn sad?

I still have trouble concentrating,
I'm still tired all the time,
I know what these are symptoms of.

But I'm not about to live in a world full of symptoms.

I know my mental illness isn't entirely in my control,
But I refuse to accept that.

I will do my best to be happy, to choose to be happy.
Yet more and more often, I'm finding myself in the spaces in between these words, vast.

It feels as though the symptoms get worse the happier I become,
I don't understand this concept.

I would pray to God if I believed in such a thing,
but she's much nicer in the abstract.

I've written the word 'I' twenty seven times already, (twenty eight)
and maybe that's the problem.

I (twenty nine) know this is likely something I (thirty) will struggle with my entire life,
statistically speaking.

I (thirty one) know we're all broken,
I (thirty two) know that's the point of all this.

I just wish
I could be broken
a little less.
(Thirty four)


  1. Three things.
    1. I'm pretty sure we're actually poetic soulmates - cause I don't know how else to explain this constant mirroring we've got going on.
    2. MMMMmm I'm nosy and want to know about this new relationship.
    3. I want to help with this new film, cause you are inspiring.


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