deltadisparity

[deltadisparity]

I NEED TO MAKE A HOME FOR MYSELF IN MY OWN HEAD (INSTEAD OF IN THE PRESENCE OF OTHERS) SO THAT I CAN TUCK IT SOMEWHERE SAFE BUT I’VE GOT THIS CRAZY NOTION THAT MAYBE IN MY HEAD ISN’T A SAFE PLACE TO BE.

#spilled ink #1 18

[deltadisparity]

i had a dream with you last night. somebody i barely knew asked who it was that was with me in a picture. she's my best friend, i went to say. but the words fell down my throat. you aren't anymore. we haven't talked in two months, almost three, and i chose that, and i don't regret it. i correct myself. an old friend, i say. we used to be really close, i add, but for me, it was only out of habit. how long will it take to break out of that? i don't want to bite my nails anymore.

bad habit

#spilled ink #1 18

[deltadisparity]

i'm starting to hate spelunking. as it turns out, this cave gets darker faster when it’s cold. and darkness makes the escape rope much harder to climb up. go figure. nobody else explores here, either. there are no gems to draw in their attention. this loneliness is what sets the dark into my bones. it’s crawling up my spine as we speak. i’ve heard that it takes time to climb the wintry rope, maybe even all of spring; but i just want out of this damn hole.

until spring

#spilled ink #1 18

[deltadisparity]

when we first met, i'd no clue what to say (your beauty took away those kinds of things); but as weeks passed with each slow day-to-day the moments had me tied to you with strings. these ties came in most any shape and size, from songs to humor, i could not resist the gravity expelling from your eyes so bright and bold i could not stand remissed. i felt myself fall in, and yet i could not stop or slow against this force unknown. perhaps i rose to meet you (i think good). for now it's clear you are what's in my bones. if, then, the moon you are and always be, your might pulls me to follow as the sea.

sonnet ii

#spilled ink #1 18

[deltadisparity]

i sent you a playlist full of my favorite artist september of last year (or was it august?), and eight months later we were in a dingy, crowded, front-lit room listening to the same songs played in a different way. the love (and sound and pressure) surrounding me tore my heart in two (and three and four). and now: we don't so much as speak to one another, you listen to them still, and i can feel a fifth piece breaking off.

it was mine.

#spilled ink #1 18

[deltadisparity]

let's pretend this is important: the bite of wind turning cheeks pink, or pinker than they were; the manner in which you jump when a snowball catches your sleeve; the way bits of snow drift into your hair and melt. let's pretend this is important: the short time it has taken for another's room to feel like your own; the golden-sweet moment after waking but before you're fully conscious; the gentle lull of breathing as you fall asleep, not alone. let's pretend this is important: the recognition that hazel is now one of your favorite colors; the knowledge that the safest place really is wherever they are; the method to your madness of the love, love, love that surrounds you.

this is important

#spilled ink #1 18

[deltadisparity]

it's so hard to be good! it's so hard. hard to be good to myself, hard to be good for others, hard to do good for what i'm involved in. it's so hard. everything is so dark right now. i swear i have good thoughts usually. the bad ones are there, too, but usually the good exists more prominently and i don't have any reason to worry. and, oh my god, is there ever reason to worry more than now? it seems like nearly everything is dark, or shades close to dark. i've forgotten how to see the light, to see the good. i don't know where it went. i don't know how to find that skill, to hone it, why to use it anymore. everything is so dark right now. it's so hard. it's so hard to be good.

on goodness, 12/16/17

#spilled ink #12 17

[deltadisparity]

i have the ability to change. i have the ability to act different, to act better. i am capable of being who i want to be at all times. it is in my grasp, and i am lunging toward it in all moments. some times are harder, but that is human. i can and will continue to better myself. i can and will keep changing for better.

affirmation for 12/3/17.

#spilled ink #12 17

[deltadisparity]

i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.

#11 17

[deltadisparity]

we are in charge of how satisfied we become. there will be things and events out of our control, but we can be content regardless of and in spite of those things, so long as we want to be and work to be.

from a class reflection last month.

#spilled ink #11 17

[deltadisparity]

“i know the stars are there.

i know they will glow for millions, if not billions, of years after they die. they will spread light and color throughout their galaxies and our shared universe for eons. their deaths will eject gas to help the next stars grow, with different makeups that might be beneficial (the heavy carbon from our star is why we exist).

i know they guided our ancestors. we are looking at nearly the same sky that they did. the north star freed slaves from the southern united states. the constellations shaped science and mythology in ancient greece. they might be in a different alignment than thousands of years ago, but the sky is largely the same. the past is still with us.

i know our star will burn for five billion more years, and will live to see many more triumphs and failures of humanity. innumerable civilizations will fall and be reborn before our star’s core dies. we will ultimately be unable to stop it from expanding when its hydrogen is depleted at the end of its life.

yet for all their power, all their bright shining splendor and magnificence, i still can’t see them on a cloudy night. their glowing is stopped by a layer of condensed water. they are nothing but the haze behind the veil.

i know the stars are there. do they know i’m here?”

“the trick is to wait. they might know you are there, but if you look long enough some will always appear through the mist. be patient.”

stargazing.

#spilled ink #11 17

[deltadisparity]

can you see through your hair?

can you see us?

silent,

waiting for you

in the golden night?

can you see us

begging for your

attention

praise

laughter?

are we clear?

are we

what you seek?

are we enough?

can we satisfy

your wishes and desires?

or are you

merely dreaming

of someplace better?

nov 11, ‘17, 3:55pm

#spilled ink #11 17

[deltadisparity]

how do you tell someone that you’re thankful for all that they are for all that they’ve shared given you feared with you feared for you received from you been with you? how can i tell you that i appreciate every way you interact with me every time you spend an instant with me every place you have a laugh with me? the human experience is long and rare and different and impossible to put into words. no abstract concept can be explained by two-dimensional lines. humans are abstract. feelings are abstract. thank you for being abstract with me.

abstractions.

#spilled ink #11 17

[deltadisparity]

i hope you don’t

become tired

of being with me.

we spend so much

time together.

i can see it:

overexposed,

washed out, faded.

all defining

features are gone.

coexistence

for weeks on end

leading up to

indifference.

i am too much.

thoughts on friendship.

#spilled ink #11 17

[deltadisparity]

do you remember

the night

right after she left?

it was before.

she wasn’t there.

i sat on your floor

folded

while you waited

for the night to take hold.

dark gold warmth

swirled around the room

as the sun passed underneath.

a reflection on a time past.

#spilled ink #11 17

[deltadisparity]

love is

staying up until

three fifteen,

talking,

and talking,

and talking,

but mostly listening.

it’s living with the regret –

or lack thereof –

of being awake

for far too long.

morning enters

with weary bones and

a desire to curl up

and stagnate

because the new day

is too heavy when

you can’t talk.

- what love is.

#spilled ink #11 17

[deltadisparity]

dreams are small and personal we grow them for ourselves they start alone minute and frail they are personal. we harbor them in our safe places; some never see the light of day. tucked behind a claim that we don’t know what we want or the belief that we can’t achieve it. others belong on our sleeve but never make it there for they are small and we are afraid. our most vulnerable goals, wishes that make us who we are, are kept in the dark because once they’re shared someone might take them. hurt them. destroy them. and yet we lavish them with time and talent dedication, motivation, care they blossom so far, dig their roots into our souls, become a delicately important part of how we live. we’ve grown them, but what to do with them? where will they lead us? and we are afraid. so hidden they stay. they grow off one another in the dark develop and become strong rooted in our character and action and as they grow, we learn ourselves. we grow too. we recognize the sky is the limit, but how do we get there? our dreams stacked like boxes all the way to the fuckin’ moon, as if we could make it. are our dream-boxes strong enough? they will probably collapse if we try anything, we decide. we try to share them. maybe a little love will make the flower petals brighter. but some only try to trim the leaves cut us back, tie us down make our boxes smaller. this is why dreams are personal, we chastise ourselves. the boxes topple and we go back to square one. we search for that one bright spot the one burst of nurturing encouragement that allows us to open up to the light. a safe spot to share with. a healthy place to grow. and now our dreams can flourish with those around them, into a garden’s worth of bright varieties. our dream-boxes will make it beyond the moon, even. they will probably exit the solar system. dreams are personal. until they grow enough to be stitched to our sleeve forever.

#rework #spilled ink #11 17