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“That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all.”

--T.S. Eliot, The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock

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The Awesome Power of Procrastination

*Trigger Warning: self-harm The power of procrastination is so awesome that even though I have been without Internet access for several hours and I have things that I think I want to do, I have spent that time lying on top of my bed thinking about how I would do all the things I want to do if I were to do them. Very productive. I think that the ideas I have are worth so much more in my head, I can fetishize every negative feeling and pretend that it makes me special or interesting in some way. But when the thoughts become words that I type out and read back, I realise how banal everything about me is. That's probably the real reason writing blog posts and writing in my journal gets a little harder every time. Here is a quick list of the things I should be doing right now: On Tuesday I had a very intense dream that was terrifying enough to make me feel slightly separate from my body all week. Even now, everything feels a little unreal and abnormal; I haven't stopped
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The Mad Girl: Poetry Edition(part 7)

Little Things

As I was walking up the stair,
I met a man who was barely there.
I asked him how he lived here every day.
"If your heart is full of love, you will find a way."
He said after a minute.
But it's been so long since my heart had anything in it.
I slowly crack my chest open to check again,
my heart was dark and empty as it had always been.

I looked up to ask him what I do when I can't love,
but he had already disappeared to the floors above.
I sat on the stair and wondered for some time.
Eventually my mind answered, but it was rather unkind.

"You deserve to starve for all the things you lack.
If you weren't so small, you wouldn't slip through the cracks." 
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