Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry #26

I’ve lived in a prison all my life.
I am trapped inside my own mind.
A mind that dictates euphoria I can never understand,
and misery I can’t keep down.

But it isn’t too bad,
because I am not alone.
Everyone’s made a prison of their own.
Living inside 9 to 5 office jobs to pay for a house
they never stay in.

I am locked behind a mind that follows me not;
This four-walled trap is all I’ve ever known.
I wonder what it’s like to be powerful enough
To decide when to be happy or sad –
to face the notion of ending up being yourself
with comfort and content,
not fear and panic.

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Day to Day Writing, Epiphanies

Day to Day Writing #25

When I was sixteen, I spent all night alone in my room, in the dark, listening to Ashlee Simpson from my laptop, and crying in agreement every time she said “Good bye”. I was crying because my best friend stopped calling me as much as she used to, and the difference caught me by surprise, because I wasn’t quite ready for our relationship to end yet. It was very obvious to me what I was sad about, and it didn’t bother me whether or not my reaction to my situation was appropriate. All I knew was that I was sad, and that was enough to legitimate the Ashlee Simpson music and the tantrum that followed for hours afterward.

Now that I’m older, I look back at this memory fondly. It is an anecdote I remember with nostalgia because of its simplicity and clarity. I wish I could be sad without judgement – without looking at myself in anger, because I often believe that I am sad over things I shouldn’t be sad about – as if there was a hierarchy in pain that I should always put first, instead of my emotions. I wish I could easily pinpoint the source of my sadness as eloquently and as easily as I did when I was sixteen, because I had no shame nor regret over the decisions I made, because I wasn’t trying to justify anything to myself. I wish I could let myself be simply sad for one day and not hate myself for it, because when I was sixteen, I was so ready to accept that people have good and bad days – and time wasn’t something that could go to waste if you allowed yourself to have one sad, bad day — or a couple. Because there was always time to be happy, to move on.

Now that I’m older, I am so aware of time and the minutes I waste being sad. This search for happiness has consumed my life to the point that I have stopped allowing myself to feel the way I actually feel. As if only certain problems have legitimacy, as if tears can only be justified within certain situations.

I wish I could be irrational, and show my emotions to anyone who would listen, without being judged nor put to shame, and still be considered an adult.

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Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry # 24

There’s a cricket living in my heater.
I feed him leaves through the dusty grate and listen to his chirping at night.

A few days ago I tried my best to lead him out,
And created a path for escape through my living room window —
But he stayed in his spot and chirped,
and forced us
to co-exist.

Every morning I check my heater
only to see the path I created for him remain
untraveled.

His chirps lull me through my nightmares,
on evenings when I leave my window open,
the cold sneaking in and settling deep within
my bones.

I paint my old heater forest-green
To make him feel at home.

A small thank you for his nightly song,
the one that holds my hand
and leads me through a yellow field,
an endless sea of stars burning bright above us —
and the songs of crickets and cicadas
surrounds us.

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Day to Day Poetry, poetry

Day to Day Poetry #23

Remembering the night
you stayed up until 5 am with me
talking about ex lovers and our friends
watching scary movies, and sneaking up the stairs
to brew a cup of tea without waking up our roommates.

It may have been an uneventful night for you,
but it was exactly what I needed at the time.

Thank you.

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Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry # 22

I am the daughter of adventure and exploration,
an old-school, classic adrenaline junkie.
Despising routine,
Ghastly afraid
of the every day.

And yet —

the happiest and most content memory I have,
is sitting in the dark, curled up under the covers,
sipping warm tea, listening to the rain,
watching a horror movie
with you.

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