All I ever wanted was to feel like you were mine, and I was yours. I call you my person, but you don’t do the same for me. I carry you with me, wherever I go, but you seem to have your own ways. Can someone give you everything you…

I want to create. I want to eat and drink and laugh. I want to be present in the moment. I want to dance to the rythm of the music without worrying how others see me. I want to tatttoo half of my body and change my hair. I want to sleep at night without having nightmares. I want to drop the act. I’m okay. It’s okay. I’m okay. — if i say it one too many times, I will also believe it, right? It’s okay. I’m okay. —

It’s been a year now since I have written anything. The need to achieve other people’s dreams consumed me. I have climbed the corporate ladder and all I did was politics, play little games and babysit my seniors. On paper it seemed great, isn’t this everyone’s story? Once you get…

When I fight for women’s rights, he says he loves me. He calls me passionate when I preach activism. He tells me how proud he is when I correct sexism. He praises me in adoration, that I can do whatever a man can do. Yet he doesn’t fight for women. He doesn’t preach activism. He doesn’t correct sexism. It seems like, after all, that he doesn’t think I can do whatever a man can do. He fucks a feminist. He shows his love to a feminist. He praises a feminist, but he isn’t a feminist.

I run through life, trying to catch a yellow balloon that is so close, yet so far. I am running and then I am skipping. Fast walking was a choice for a while. I incorporated walking into it, but nothing I did ever got me closer to the balloon. But…

As I sit and read, an intrusive thought goes through my head: He’s out to get you. The love is dead. I try to get rid of the thought but I am just feeling distraught. I begin to panic, my hands start to shake. I can’t get rid of these feelings and I keep trying to catch a break. I know it’s all in my head but oh it’s just too damn late, the poison has already overspread.

A ladybug flew by my window, and I wondered where she’s been. How many lives has she seen? Is it easy, to be a ladybug? So tiny, so pretty, so lean. She came back to my window, and she rested a bit. I looked at her little black spots and her little wings. Luck comes to do those who get to see her. I for one, wish to be her.

I am acting restless. Anxiety filling every little part of my mind. Why am I like this? Constantly wondering how to change. I don’t want to be like this. How can I change any further? There is just so much I can do. These feelings never stop. I don’t want to use chemicals to fix my brain. I want to think differently. Be different. Act different. Always uneasy, Consistently fidgety, Without fail on edge,

I found my creativity in you. Afterwards I found creativity in someone that replaced you. The pain I was in, allowed me to express myself. I thought only when I cry I have something to say. I found my creativity in a new person. He brought different kind of feelings. I stopped crying and so did my Art. I was upset about it. I had my new muse, yet words weren’t pouring out. I allowed myself to experience these new feelings outside of pain.